


Sanguine Shackles

by andrhars



Series: The Grand Hunt [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and fluff in (somewhat) equal measure, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sheik as a separate person, Vampires, War, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 82,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9701144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrhars/pseuds/andrhars
Summary: Having barely come to grips with their respective changes, Link and Sheik find themselves drawn into a war that has been brewing for centuries. The Grand Hunt is on, but which side will they find themselves on, when a man Link thought long dead reappears? And then there's the trio that finds themselves in way over their heads after asking too many questions...





	1. The Opening Salvo

His breaths came in short, sharp puffs, each intake pure agony as his lungs slowly filled with blood, bubbling red, almost black, in the back of his throat. His boots clicked on the stone floor, each step a desperate fight for survival, his side scraping along the wall and leaving a wet, black smear wherever he went, painting a clear trail for his pursuer.

Not that said pursuer was in any hurry to catch him. He was definitely being followed, the second sets of clicking footsteps echoing along the stone passage was evidence of that, but they remained out of sight, content to let him exhaust himself to make the job easier.

He wasn't stupid enough to think this wasn't deliberate, that he wasn't being herded. As things were, though, he had no choice but to follow along. He clutched his side, where a bullet had lodged itself in his ribs. He'd dig it out, but he had no time. It'd make him too vulnerable.

He reached a spiral staircase, which he knew led up one of the turrets. Not ideal, but again he had no choice. He'd dropped his sword back in the banquet hall, and all he had was a small stiletto he kept for emergencies—hardly a weapon made for a full frontal assault, which was all he could do unless he managed to lead his pursuer into a trap...which would necessitate walking into _their_ trap.

The indignity of it all! Traitors, the lot of them! Once the others found out, there would be nowhere for the little worms to hide! He'd survive this, he'd make it through, and he would watch and laugh as the ones who'd done this to him paid _dearly_ for their mistake!

He burst onto the crumbling ramparts, gasping as the rain and wind hit him with full force. The storm had really kicked up, fuelled by a long period of unbearable summer heat that made the clouds fat and dark with moisture, the wind turning the droplets into tiny little needles poking against every bit of exposed skin they found.

Behind him, he heard whistling coming from the stairwell. A cheerful, jaunty tune, nearly drowned out by the howling wind that threatened to uproot the trees surrounding the old holdfast. Not even the encasing cliffs shielded the place from this storm, and knowing his luck there'd be avalanches and mudslides that would tear what little remained of it down.

Below, in the courtyard, he saw torches and lanterns moving as the intruders, their leather outfits coloured dark by the precipitation, turned his home upside down, shouting unintelligible words to each other. A few of his men were still holding out in the banquet hall, flashes of gunfire illuminating the windows, but it was only a matter of time before they...they...

He stumbled over a cracked flagstone and landed hard against the balustrade, his ribs smacking against the stone and making him cry out. A shape appeared in the stairwell door, a slender, curved blade resting on their shoulder, their face obscured by a hood. Not that he cared who this murderer was—just another body in a long line of would-be killers, just like the ones below. They, too, would suffer his wrath.

The opposite tower in front of him was the key. Another stairwell leading down, to the seldom-used part of the keep. His escape path—the underground that fed the well. It'd be a tight squeeze, but personal comfort was one of the things he'd gladly sacrifice to live another day, to have his revenge!

He reached the door, throwing himself against it and pulling at the handle, cackling in triumph...and cursed loudly when the thing refused to move. He pulled with all his strength, and the thing creaked pitifully for a moment before the handle came off entirely, sending him sprawling on the floor, the rain mercilessly pelting him continually. At least the cold wasn't an issue.

"What's wrong, old man?" his pursuer asked with an amused chuckle, having stopped halfway across the rampart, their sword now held at her side, a smaller parrying blade lightly gripped in the other hand. "Forgot your keys?"

He snarled, barely able to get back on his feet. His lungs and torso burned, and he could barely take a single breath. He could feel the red bubbling in his side, beneath his clothes.

He'd forgotten this door. Warped from the heat, it had gotten stuck. No amount of force could move it, not even his strength, reduced as it was. It was almost enough to make him laugh, if only for the face that appeared before his mind's eye at that moment, that arrogant smirk on his lips.

What was it Emory had said again? It was their memories, or lack thereof, that would be their downfall.

His pursuer watched him as he tried to steady himself against the balustrade, pulling his stiletto from his belt. His shoulders rose, like the hackles of a cornered dog. "Come closer, and die!" he shrieked.

The pursuer chuckled again and reached up, shoving the hood off her head with the flat of the parrying blade, revealing that accursed blonde hair and tell-tale red eyes. The mere sight of them filled him with rage. But the worst was her apparent age. They had sent a _child_ to kill him?!

"There is no need to make this difficult, old man," the Sheikah said, arms held out wide. "Come quietly, and I will make it quick. I give you my word."

His next words were drowned out by a gust of wind, but he wasn't interested in talking anymore. Shrieking again—a wordless, meaningless exclamation of his sheer rage—he rushed forward, swinging his stiletto wildly, forcing his body to move forward despite its agonising resistance. His lungs were full of blood, his legs buckling beneath his weight, his ribcage slowly collapsing in on itself. He didn't care. He'd kill this blood-eye, and the next one, and every single fucking hunter down there until all that was left was blood and gristle and bones and—

The Sheikah dodged, moving aside with seemingly boneless grace while also lashing out. Her main blade cut through the bone and gristle of his right wrist, severing the hand like it was nothing, while the parrying blade rammed itself deep into his side, which went instantly numb; she twisted it to make the wound even worse. Then it was yanked out, and something hit the back of his knees, forcing him down. Something clattered on the stone, and there was a fist in his hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to stare up at the red-eyed hunter.

"I'm tempted to draw this out," the Sheikah said, her jaw clenched as an unholy fury was reflected in those ruby orbs of hers. "But we're on a tight schedule. We're cleansing this entire region, starting with you."

He chuckled, choking on his own blood. "You'll break the Accord—"

"It's already broken! By one of yours!" the Sheikah interrupted with a bark. "We do this for the lives lost at the Studio, at the hands of a parasite. _You_ started this war, not us!"

Not us, he wanted to say. Not me. Another traitor. The same traitor. It's not too late. We can still go back to the way things were. We leave each other to our own devices. Water under the bridge, all this.

But it's too late for that, as he feels the Sheikah's blade bite into his neck...and all goes dark.

* * *

Jhaan maintained her grip on the vampire's hair as she sawed at the bone and tendons until it gave way, and the body fell at her feet, blood pouring from the stump where its head had once been. Sheathing her blade on her back, she turned the head so she could look into the monster's face, frozen in a mixed expression of pain, outrage, and fear. It was a look that belonged there—on the face of every vampire she would ever cross paths with.

She heard footsteps behind her, recognised the weight and the owner of that particular sound of heavy breathing.

"You got him?" Reyne asked, holding his side as he leaned on Magnus. The Hylian's nose was bleeding.

"What does it look like?" she asked, tossing the monster's head at their feet. Reyne grinned at the sight of it, while Magnus simply sighed and ducked, causing the Hylian to yelp at the sudden lack of support. The silver-haired human picked up the head and stared at it with distaste.

"Didn't put up much of a fight," Jhaan continued, grabbing the body under its arms and beginning to drag it towards them. Shoving the head into Reyne's hands, Magnus quickly joined her, helping her heave the body on top of the balustrade, black blood still pumping slightly from the stump. "That was a good shot, Mag," she said, punching the wiry man in the arm.

"I was aiming for his head," the human stated in a neutral tone, but he punched hers in return nonetheless.

"Look at this," Reyne said, limping towards them. "The notes weren't joking. They really _do_ have venom. See?" He pointed at the vampire's fangs, which had clicked into place when he'd tried to attack Jhaan. A small bead of liquid, barely visible in Magnus' torchlight, was growing at the tip of one of them. "Remind me to apologise to whoever wrote that if I ever meet them."

"Apologise to Master Kafei, noted," Magnus said, smiling a little when Reyne gave him a sour look.

"You know, you're awfully uppity to the one who took a knife for you," Reyne said, mock hurt in his voice, gripping his side for emphasis.

"It barely grazed you," Jhaan said with a snort. "Don't be such a baby." She took a breath and whistled into the courtyard, drawing the attention of the hunters below. The gunshots from the other parts of the keep had long since fallen silent. "Oi, we got the vamp!" she announced, drawing cheers from them. "Prepare a bonfire inside, we've got to burn this son of a bitch before he comes back!"

As she spoke, Magnus tipped the headless body over the railing. It crashed into the cobbles below with a wet crunch, where several hunters immediately surrounded it and began dragging it inside the main keep.

"Should I throw this down too?" Reyne asked, shaking the head back and forth by its hair.

"Not yet," Jhaan said, grinning viciously. "Let's see if we can find a pike, give us something to parade around first."

Reyne's eyes widened, while Magnus simply rolled his. "We get it," the tallest of the trio said, brushing wet hair out of his eyes. "You hate vamps. No need to be spiteful."

"One of these things took out an entire fortress full of hunters," Jhaan said, taking the head from Reyne's unresisting hands, glaring into the amber eyes of the temporarily dead (according to Master Kafei's reports, at least) vampire, almost wishing he'd come back right away so she could kill him again. "Including my cousin, so I think I get to be as spiteful as I want, thank you very much."

Reyne and Magnus exchanged looks, an entire conversation passing silently between them before Magnus suddenly grabbed the head out of Jhaan's hands and tossed it down to the courtyard.

"Head's up!" he shouted, shrugging apologetically when one of the hunters below narrowly avoided being struck by it, glaring up at him.

"Come on," Reyne said at the same time, taking Jhaan by her elbow and began dragging her towards the stairwell. "We've a bonfire to build."

Magnus followed them quietly.

"You did that on purpose," Jhaan hissed at the tall man, who raised an eyebrow in return. " _Head's up_? Your jokes are getting worse and worse every day."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Magnus said, looking more than a little smug, his chocolate eyes sparkling in the torchlight.

Reyne didn't say anything, silently questioning how he'd ended up in the worst hunting party of all time.

Oh, right, he reminded himself shortly after. Because I love them.

* * *

"Another?"

Kerran bowed his head in appropriate supplication to his lord, avoiding the elder vampire's eyes, his barely suppressed anger so fierce it nearly made the amber in them glow.

"So it would seem, master," he said. "The hunters ambushed Lord Creighton inside his own holdfast with overwhelming numbers. He never stood a chance."

Martel, vampire lord of the Obrines, a frozen wasteland of a mountain region to the north, growled and stood up from behind his desk, pacing towards the large windows that opened onto a balcony overlooking the falls on which he'd built his keep, shielded from the sun by a series of rocky overhangs and fabric drapes.

The sun had not set, like it never did so far north at this time of year, hovering just above the edge of the cliffs, casting an ethereal light over the rushing waters, only to be swallowed up by the deep basin below, its water draining and diverting through a series of underground rivers to the various towns and cities that made the craggy lands their home.

"Poor Creighton... The Accord has finally been broken, then," Martel said, fists clenched at his sides. "Emory has damned us all."

Kerran frowned. "Surely not, master?" he said. "The hunters have more men than us, true enough, but give us a few months and we can number in the dozens, if not hundreds strong. We can—"

"Start another war?" Martel asked, turning to look at him with narrow eyes. "Follow in Gideon's footsteps, you mean?" He shook his head. "No, we did what we did to put an _end_ to war, the sort that would bring the world to its knees and never be able to rise again. All for the sake of balance. The Accord was our last hope of remaining on somewhat civil terms with the mortals, and now it has been lost."

"All the more reason to pick up your sword, master," Kerran urged him, stepping closer. "Gideon fought for domination—we will fight for _survival_! The hunters condemn us all for the actions of _one_ walker. Surely we have the right to defend ourselves?!"

Martel snorted. "And what will the hunters do when we start pushing back?" he asked. "Rally the kingdoms and nations, eventually unite the whole world against us. Gideon was mad enough in the end to believe he could fight them all...but the rest of us saw it was nothing but our doom." He flashed his teeth in a non-smiling grin, forcing Kerran to bow his head again in submission. "Or are you so quick to throw away the life I gave you, boy?"

Kerran bristled at being called _boy_ , the word so easily tumbling out of his sire's mouth, like it had for the past eighteen years. The indignities he'd suffered for the sake of the Cabal. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, a comforting presence at his hip.

"I am not so quick to throw away my Gift, master," he said slowly. "Which is why I strongly urge you to see reason and order me to begin mustering an army immediately in preparation to meet the hunters. A show of force, to prove that we will not roll over and perish like the walkers of old—"

"That's enough!" Martel shouted, his voice echoing in the stone chamber, rattling the windows. "I will not have my decisions questioned by my own kin!" He turned his back to Kerran and watched the falls in silence for a long moment. "I will not risk open war against the hunters...or the future of our kind." He sighed. "We will go into hiding, pray that the hunters miss at least some of us. Given enough time, they will end the hunt, citing our disappearance as a success. By the time we resurface, the current generation will be long gone, and we can continue where we left off."

Kerran fought the urge to yell at the elder vampire, to disparage him for the coward that he was. "Is that your final decision?" he asked carefully, dearly wishing the old fool would change his mind. It would make things so much easier.

"It is," Martel said. "Go and make the preparations. Tell the staff that I will be taking an extended leave of absence, and—"

"I will do no such thing."

Kerran saw Martel's back stiffening at his blatant disobedience, and had to mentally tell himself not to look away as the elder vampire slowly pivoted on his feet to stare at him with a perplexed expression. Kerran knew he had never been the most well-behaved kin Martel had sired, but refusing a direct order? That was...unheard of.

"I beg your pardon?" Martel asked slowly. "My apologies, but I must have misheard you. I could have sworn you just... _refused_ an order?"

"You heard correctly," Kerran maintained, his hand curling around the handle of his sword. "This is not the time to hide—this is the time to _fight_. If you are too blind and weak to see the truth and act on it, I will do it in your stead."

"Supplanting me already, are you?" Martel asked with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, _boy_ , but you will need more than a fancy sword and the arrogance of youth to take my place. Guards!"

The twin doors behind Kerran burst open, and several heavily armed mortal guards armed with rifles poured inside, levelling the barrels at the younger vampire, who raised his hands in surrender.

"You will not even fight me yourself?" Kerran asked.

"Why bother?" Martel asked. "I only fight those who have _earned_ it, Kerran, and you have certainly lost that privilege now. Take him away," he told the guards. "Bleed him and tie him up in the sunroom. Let us see how long he lasts."

"Sorry about this, milord," one of the guards said.

"Do not address him as a lord!" Martel snapped. "He is a traitor, a filthy..." he trailed off when he realised the rifles were pointed at him. "What are you doing?!"

"Sorry, milord," the guard repeated, not looking sorry about this at all. Not surprising, really, given the substantial increase in pay Kerran had promised him in exchange for control of Martel's household guard. "But we've come under new management."

Martel's face turned red, which was quite a feat given flushed his skin was already. "You...you _dare_...!" he managed to force out. It brought Kerran no small amount of pleasure to see his sire absolutely silenced by his own incandescent rage.

"I tire of this discussion," Kerran said simply. "Boys?"

He covered his ears as the rifles went off, watching as his sire's body was perforated by bullet after bullet. Age had been catching up with Martel at this point, and he had never been the fastest vampire to begin with. Raw strength had been his particular trait, which was useless in the face of his own guards' weaponry. One bullet struck Martel's cheek, splintering the bone beneath and tearing a huge gash in the skin of his face, his ear dangling from a thin strip of flesh. Martel fell to his knees, clutching his body where the bullets had struck him, unable to move.

The rifles fell silent, and Kerran signalled them to cease fire as they began to reload. Drawing his sword—a broad arming blade, the sort he'd carried when he was still mortal—he marched up to Martel, who gazed up at him with utter hatred. His mouth was a broken ruin from the splintered bullet, and he was unable to speak, but Martel had always been quite apt at silent communication.

I should have let you die, those eyes were saying.

"I agree," Kerran said, taking up position at Martel's side and raising his sword in a two-handed group. "You should have." He brought it down on Martel's neck, severing his head with a single blow. To his surprise, Kerran felt a small pang of guilt as he sheathed his blade, but he chalked it up to that chemical bond between sire and kin. Nothing but instinct, unnecessary in the long run.

"Take his body and burn it immediately," Kerran ordered the guards, who sprang into action at his bark. "Announce that Lord Martel has decided to retire, effective immediately, and has left me in charge until his return."

That would be enough for his mortal servants and guards. As for the other walkers...well, he was far from the only one who'd grown tired of his sire. The rest of the Cabal would be springing into action themselves soon enough. For now, Kerran would simply have to act the part of a dutiful vampire lordling.

With the stinking blood of Martel still drying on the floor, great streaks smeared by his body being dragged away, Kerran sat at his master's desk, watching the impressive array of paperwork that covered its surface. Martel had always been more of an administrator than a proper warrior, and enjoyed sitting back and letting others to the dirty work for him...like Kerran.

Sighing, Kerran reached for the day's itinerary, which Martel always insisted _he_ draw up, only to refuse to follow it. Nothing had been checked off, ever. He was about to throw it away when he saw the last point on the list, a minor point he hadn't given any thought because he'd been too busy trying to organise Martel's betrayal at the hands of his own men.

Right, the new one. The first of his kind, really, if what the others had told him was true. It could have been interesting...if it weren't for the fact that the boy was the traitor's kin. Still, it necessitated the his presence, if only for his formal induction.

The Cabal would have to decide his fate.

Grabbing Martel's favourite pen—a ghastly gold and jewel-encrusted thing—Kerran began to write, making sure to imitate his master's penmanship expertly. The ink was red, which Kerran had always had difficulty deciding whether was ironically stupid or stupidly ironic.

_**Honourable Lord Sheik of Hyrule,** _

_**Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your recent ascension to the rank of Lord of Hyrule, taking the place of Lord Emory (or Ascal, depending on his name at the time of his disappearance). Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Martel, Lord of the Obrine Mountains, and I would like to cordially extend a welcome to our very exclusive circle...** _

* * *

Sheik read the letter over and over, his eyes scanning the red-inked words as many times as he felt necessary, trying to gauge some sort of hidden meaning or threats or anything that felt off. Nothing did.

He'd been expecting it, of course. The summons. Ascal's notes, thoughtfully left behind after he'd stabbed Sheik in the back (literally) and left him temporarily paralysed, had mentioned the other vampire lords of the world would notice the events that had taken place in Hyrule, and who was now currently the lord of the territory.

In name only, of course. There were no lands, no titles, no money. It was simply a staked (heh) claim on Hyrule as his territory. No vampire could enter or cross it without his permission. Those who tried would be punished harshly. Or so it was supposed to work, at any rate.

Not that Sheik cared about this—he felt no need to uphold his (or, rather, Ascal's) claim on Hyrule. He'd certainly kill any vampire that entered Hyrule, but that was more out of principle than anything else. After all, despite his recently deceased status, he was still a hunter at heart. Only now, he had to be one unofficially, what with being _officially_ dead and all the inconvenience that followed.

"Well?" Kafei looked impatient from his position by the window, leaning against the sill. "What does it say?"

"It's what I've been expecting for the past six months," he replied, walking over to his cousin and handing the letter to him, careful to avoid standing in the direct beam of sunlight that came through the window. Kafei noticed and grinned apologetically as he closed the shutter. "The summons to come present myself to the rest of the vampires." He said it with as much loathing as he could possible load his voice with, drawing a chuckle from the older Sheikah.

Kafei read the letter quickly, his eyes noticeably scanning several lines over and over, just like Sheik's, in an attempt to find some hidden meaning. "Sounds like a party for the ages," he drawled, handing it back. "Martel...he's one of the originals, isn't he?"

"He is," Sheik confirmed. "One of Ascal's. Helped him overthrow the last generation of lords after allying themselves with the hunters."

"Tch, _allying_ ," Kafei said, clicking his tongue at the idea. "More like a desperate last resort on both sides. And now we're back where we started. It doesn't say where you're to present yourself, though."

"The location is somewhere in Ascal's notes," Sheik said dismissively. "I'll have to find it later."

"You're going?"

"I have to," he said with a shrug. "Have to prove my worth to claim Hyrule as my territory. Traditional, once a lord has been replaced, apparently. Besides, my own investigations haven't turned up hide nor hair of Ascal—if anyone knows where to find him, surely it'll be his old comrades?" Kafei didn't like the idea, not one bit, and Sheik kept speaking in order to ward off the intense mother-henning that would ensue in a few moments. "You had news on Terra's campaign?" he asked, recognising the seal enclosed in one of the letters on Kafei's desk. The seal of the Atelier, the biggest hunter workshop in the world.

"It has finally started," Kafei said sourly, not happy with Sheik changing the subject. "He sent about forty hunters to take down one of the vampire lords to the west of the Atelier. Crei...something. The report's on the desk."

"Should I be reading this?" Sheik asked, not wanting to put his cousin in an even more difficult position, having to keep Sheik's survival a secret given his vampiric nature.

"I think you've earned the right several times over," Kafei said, returning his attention to the window, looking through the gaps in the shutters. The faint sounds of swords clashing could be heard outside. "Besides, the news from both sides will be of interest to you, I'm sure."

Sheik quickly read through this letter as well, recognising the elegant pen strokes of Master Terra on the paper. "They succeeded in destroying Lord Creighton," he murmured. "In less than a day. Impressive."

"The party was specifically put together to hunt vampires," Kafei said. "It'd be embarrassing if they failed, especially after _our_ little escapade in Castle Town."

Sheik continued nodded silently, continuing to read. After the report on the vampire's successful destruction, there were news from other workshops around the world, as well as a special addendum that, as soon as he saw a name he knew very well listed, made his blood run cold.

"Why is Link being summoned to the Atelier?"

"His induction into the hunter ranks was never made official," Kafei said. "Impa...died before she could inform the other masters, and _my_ seal of approval is apparently not good enough yet because of my age and inexperience." He sounded incredibly bitter at that, but Sheik wasn't sure if it was because of Link's sudden non-hunter status or his own apparent inadequacy. Perhaps both. Sheik certainly knew what _he_ was bitter about.

"Link has more than earned his place in your ranks," he said firmly, to which Kafei could only nod helplessly.

"You don't have to tell me twice, cousin. And I think you meant _our_ ranks."

"Where is he, anyway? I'd have expected to be pounced upon by now."

Truth be told, the lack of an excited Hylian werewolf throwing himself at Sheik the moment he entered the hunter compound had been distinctly disappointing. Sure, it was embarrassing when the recruits (including his former spies, Eren and Nikal) were training in the yard, but it was a...comforting thing to return to. And the catcalls were easy to ignore.

"He's in Blackbrook, investigating some claims the locals made about seeing the dead rising from their graves in the mines," Kafei said, rolling his eyes at the description. "Utter twaddle, if you ask me, but the request to check it out came from the princess herself, so..."

"And we wouldn't want to deny our precious patron anything, now would we?" Sheik said, grinning at Kafei's helpless look. "You _can_ say no, you know, we're not under the Crown's control."

Technically, in order to establish a permanent hunter workshop large enough, they'd been forced to market themselves as a mercenary company, paying for their lodgings and keep by doing contract work for the Hyrulian Crown. If this contract work happened to be hunting dangerous beasts and monsters...well, no one needed to know _that_ particular detail. Really, the mercenary part only gave them a good excuse to walk around bristling with weaponry at all times. It was nice, though, to have a permanent base somewhere that _wasn't_ a frozen hellhole, and actually under the protection of a sovereign ruler, instead of huddling in disputed territories like so many other of the large workshops.

Really, the only other _large_ workshop to share this trait with Kafei's was the Atelier, with its lofty perch overlooking the city state of Ravana, to the south. Ravana was frequently plagued by various types of beasts, which the hunters of the Atelier were only too happy to rid them of...in exchange for impressive fees, of course.

After all, a hunter did not work for free.

"Yes, well," Kafei said, clearing his throat and looking away. "I find it exceedingly difficult to tell her no. Mostly because Tira keeps glaring at me until I say yes."

"She's settling into her new bodyguard job, then?"

"A bit too well, to be honest," the purple-haired Sheikah said with a shudder. "I thought she was scary when she _wasn't_ smitten..."

"I think I see a pattern when it comes to the women in your life, cousin," Sheik said with a snicker, which turned into a full-on laugh when Kafei didn't disagree, simply sinking into his chair and giving him a look of despair...which then quickly turned into one of suspicion now that he had a proper moment to look at him. Sheik's laughter faded, replaced by a sinking feeling in his stomach.

_Oh no..._ he thought. _The mother hen cometh._

"Have you been eating?" Kafei asked suspiciously.

"Er..."

A moment's hesitation, and Sheik found himself spending his first night back home having his ear chewed off...and not in the fun way _Link_ did!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well, this didn't take long, did it? I was never able to stay away from Sheik and Link very long before feeling the need to drag them into more misery...and create some (many) more OCs, because I'm just trash like that, heh. I'm not sure how long this story will be (hopefully not as long as The Hunt), or how frequently it will be updated since I'll be attempting to keep to a proper schedule this time around, so...let's see how it goes, eh?**
> 
> **Also, I am now accepting prompts for a series of one-shots and vignettes I call "Hunter Tales" set in this universe. You can make your requests via PM or reviews or feedback or whatever, and I'll see if I can write a little something out of it. If that is of any interest to any of your, of course, and it's just not a ridiculous idea born out of my own narcissism :)**


	2. Sheik's Sanctuary

Of all the features the Sanctuary offered, Sheik found he enjoyed its rapidly growing library the most. The room that served this purpose was relatively small, and there were already more books than shelves to contain them, meaning he was liable to trip over them with every step he took. He'd accepted the challenge of organising and curating the collection, a task he found himself relishing every time he had an opportunity to spend his time in there. The room, once used as a barracks for the garrison, had been covered in carpets and other soft, sound-dampening materials, shielding any occupants from the harsh echoes and amplifying nature of the stone walls, floor, and ceiling. As a result, it was just about the only place in the Sanctuary where some peace and quiet could be found. That was another reason for he enjoyed the place so much—there was only so much noise his sensitive hearing could take before a headache started developing.

Playing the role of a librarian was not his purpose for being in the room today, however. He was sitting at the library's only table, already teetering precariously from the weight of the books piled up on its surface, his nose buried in the numerous papers, scrolls, and notebooks left behind by his sire, Ascal. While he would not hesitate at the opportunity to put another bullet in the elder vampire's skull, Sheik still found himself appreciating, sometimes even _enjoying_ Ascal's compendium on being a vampire. Of course, not being much for academia, this meant that Ascal's wisdom and experience came in the form of very informal essays and anecdotes that, while utterly ridiculous at times, formed a very vivid and coherent image of what Ascal believed it meant to be a Nightwalker, as the vampires called themselves.

It was a term they'd adopted for themselves, finding the name given to them by the hunters, _nosferati, unclean_ , to be distasteful. To his horror, Sheik found himself agreeing with this. Then again, he supposed being called unclean by everyone he knew and loved would be grating.

Another thing his notes revealed about himself, was that Ascal's mind was a very untidy place. Some of it could easily have been because of Sheik's bullet from their very first encounter, which had apparently interfered with Ascal's prized ability to lock his memories away, thereby staving off the thing that brought most walkers to their knees—the weight of their accumulated thoughts and experiences. It all became too much in the end, and things started blending into each other, slowly driving the vampire insane. Eventually, they had to be put down, both for their own sake and that of the surrounding individuals. Apparently, Sheik had broken the dam of Ascal's previous lives, and now the elder vampire found it difficult to keep himself focused on one subject...or had when he wrote these notes, at least.

Sheik wasn't sure if the bullet he put in Ascal's skull was the cause, but he was certain of the result of this dam breaking, and that was a lot of crossed-out passages, notes scribbled in the margins of his notebooks, random and not-so-random doodles in the strangest places, and a tendency to go off on tangents that had nothing to do with the subject at hand.

And still, Sheik found himself reading everything with something akin to amusement and enjoyment, and honestly not minding the tangents no matter how inane they were. Perhaps he was going insane, or, as he hoped, it was the literal blood-bond between the two. He hadn't found anything in Ascal's notes, but Sheik sometimes worried that he was under some sort of influence or subservience to the vampire who'd turned him, forced to do so in order to save Sheik's life. But surely that'd mean Ascal would take advantage of that at every turn? Instead of just incapacitating Sheik and leaving him behind, he could have ordered Sheik to follow, to serve him?

Not that Link, Kafei, Zelda, or any of the other hunters would have _allowed_ that, of course, but still...

He shook his head, realising he was going off on a tangent of his own, rather than doing the thing he'd secluded himself in the library for in the first place. He turned the page of the notebook, his eyes quickly scanning the page, turning again when he did not find the information he was looking for.

He'd been at this for hours now; the sun had set at least two hours ago, which meant it was quite late indeed, it being the middle of summer. Luckily, that was one of the advantages of being a vampire: fatigue and sleep was rarely an issue. Starting out rested and at full strength, Sheik could easily keep going without sleep and feeding for days at a time. It was a miserable experience at the end, of course, but immensely useful during times of distress, not to mention when he travelled. Not having to camp at nightfall was a blessing when on his own—he always arrived ahead of schedule that way.

The lantern, the only source of light in the dark library, cast billowing shadows over the stacks and bookcases as its flame danced gently within the glass enclosure. Naked flames were banned in this room on the pain of death, and when Kafei had suggested installing gaslights all over the Sanctuary, Sheik had firmly said no to including his library in those plans.

"Over my dead body!" had been his choice of words, which was poor to the degree that the entire room had burst into laughter, and he'd left the meeting with burning cheeks.

"Well, that's your go-ahead, isn't it, master?" Ayla had said with a crowing laugh.

 _Stupid Gerudo_ , he thought, knowing he was pouting childishly at the mere memory of the incident. He'd still gotten his way in the end, though, and only lanterns enclosed in reinforced glass were allowed to illuminate this room in the hours of darkness. Honestly, Sheik was concerned about direct sunlight as well, both for his own sake and that of the books.

 _It bleaches the books, and_ burns _me,_ he thought. If those alone weren't compelling arguments, he didn't know what would be.

Somewhere in the fortress-turned-workshop, a clock struck midnight. From the sound of the off-key bongs, Sheik knew it was Kafei's ridiculous grandfather clock, which occupied a full third of his office's southern wall. A remnant of the old commander's things, Kafei had insisted on having it repaired to a functioning state, but not entirely restored, saying he _wanted_ its head-pounding loud tick-tocks and off-key ringing reverberating in his office. It was no wonder the newly appointed Master Hunter suffered from migraines...

 _Well,_ Sheik thought, _the clock,_ and _his pregnant wife._

That was a horror story on its own, though, and Sheik didn't want to consider it any more than he had to. It was scary enough to imagine his older cousin (brother in all but blood, really) and terrifying sister-in-law sleeping together, but _procreating_? He didn't dare imagine what sort of hellion those two would spawn, or which traits he hoped they'd inherit—Kafei's emotional constipation or Elenwe's _explosive_ need to express hers, no matter what end of the spectrum she was experiencing at the time.

And the former pirate was certainly _explosive_ these days, though she luckily managed to contain her temper until only her husband was the one suffering under it—because this was _his_ fault, as she claimed. And, frankly, that was true. Still, Sheik kept a wary distance unless he had verified beforehand that Elenwe was in a _good_ mood, as he'd discovered her neutral state was far too liable to slip into the fiery one if he wasn't careful with his choice of words or, dear Goddesses, _eating_ something she found unpleasant at the time.

That was the biggest surprise he'd found in Ascal's notes. While he was still reliant on a steady supply of fresh blood from a living creature to keep himself alive, Sheik could still consume normal food and drink. They didn't do much to sate his hunger or restore his energy levels, but it let him pretend, if only for a short while, that he was still relatively _normal_ , being able to join his friends and family for meals and _not_ having to just sit there and watch them.

He also found that drinking was still possible, but as Ascal noted, it required deadly amounts of alcohol, the sort that would kill mortals, to even get slightly inebriated, much less absolutely plastered. That had left him a little bitter, as he still found an urge to drink himself into oblivion from time to time, especially when the memories and nightmares haunted him. He still hadn't quite figured out Ascal's trick for storing away or suppressing bad memories and experiences.

_**But you're young—practically an infant—and will have plenty of time to figure it out, little brother. I find it best to envision a dam, the sort used to hold back floods and the tide in the lowlands, and just shoving the things you don't want to remember behind it. It's hard to explain, to be honest. You just have to feel it, which reminds me of a man I met in the dunes of Renarra. His camel had died from thirst, which I didn't think possible, and he found himself in quite a pickle. I, of course, being the pinnacle and avatar of compassion that I am, decided to take pity upon him, and...** _

That particular tangent had gone on for three pages, and he'd never quite gotten to the point he'd intended to make, but Sheik had understood it anyway. He needed to find his own way of storing away the bad things, the experienced he didn't want to recall. It wasn't easy, but Sheik was nothing if not stubborn, refusing to give up.

The clock finished its announcement of the hour, and Sheik leaned back, blinking to remoisten his eyes, which had gone dry. Reading so late at night, in such bad lighting, was not good for one's eyesight. Sheik doubted it'd affect his in any negative way, since his body would likely just repair any damage that was done, but it was still an unpleasant experience. Deciding that perhaps he'd done enough reading for the night, he made to close the notebook when he frozen, his ears twitching slightly.

Footsteps, heading directly towards the library. Heavy ones, accompanied by the clicks and clanks of weaponry and other equipment. Someone heavily armed was approaching, and in any other location Sheik would have had his hand on his grandmother's _kukri_ , securely strapped to his thigh, but he recognised the footsteps immediately, as well as the slight scent that preceded the owner. He looked back down at the journal, hiding the smile that threatened to split his face.

The door opened, and a tall, broad shape entered the library, closing the door behind them. There was the sound of sniffing as the new arrival breathed in deeply, their eyes scanning the room. Pointless, really, since there was only one source of light and one other individual in the room, but Sheik didn't say anything. It was a habit, and who was he to speak of habits?

He kept his smile firmly under lock and key as the new arrival carefully unstrapped their weaponry from their body, leaving it by the door, and slowly made their way to the table, expertly avoiding the unstable piles of books on the way. They stood quietly by the edge of the table for a moment, clearly waiting for Sheik to acknowledge them, but the Sheikah kept his attention firmly on Ascal's journal...or pretending to, at least.

After a long moment of waiting and nothing happening, they huffed and, with an impressive display of strength, pulled Sheik's comfortable chair away from the table, turning it so he was facing the leather-clad hunter.

"Oh," Sheik said, faking surprise in his voice. "You're back."

Link looked thoroughly unimpressed with Sheik's little game, giving him a long, level stare before grabbing Sheik's collar, hoisting him out of the chair, sitting down, and then placing Sheik in his lap. He leaned in, placing his nose at the junction where Sheik's neck and shoulder met, breathing in deeply. Sheik let him, blushing slightly despite this being the millionth time Link did this. It was reassuring, apparently, and comforting. Sheik would do anything to provide these things to the Hylian.

Only after a long moment of reacquainting himself with Sheik's scent did Link pull back, staring into Sheik's eyes for a long moment before putting his lips against Sheik's in a chaste kiss, one that spoke volumes of the longing and loneliness he'd felt in his absence. Sheik put his hand at the nape of Link's neck, letting his fingers caress the shaggy hair that Link had grown out over the past few months. Long enough to put in a ponytail, now. Sheik loved it, especially when Link let him braid it.

Pulling back, Sheik smiled gently at his lupine lover, happy that Link had finally taken his rule of _no passion in the library, the books are fragile, damn it_ seriously. They'd already ruined two beds with their antics, and Sheik refused to allow his collection to come to harm.

"I missed you," he says quietly, kissing Link again. "How was Blackbrook? Any living dead we have to take care of?"

Link shook his head, his hands moving in a rapid flurry of signs.

**Nothing. Gas leak from the mine. The villagers were hallucinating.**

Sheik snorted. "Zelda will be pleased to hear that report, I think."

 **Tira's hometown,** Link reminded him. **I was glad to check it out for her.**

"Kafei will certainly rest easy, knowing she won't knife him in his sleep," Sheik said. "Won't stop her kicking his ass from here to Termina for being an idiot, though."

 **Kafei is always an idiot,** Link signed, and Sheik hadn't thought it possible but the signs even _looked_ as deadpan as Link's face. **I fear for their cub—child.**

He'd corrected himself quickly enough, but Sheik caught the mistake, giving Link a reassuring smile as he leaned closer, resting his forehead on Link's shoulder. "You can call kids that, you know," he said. "It's endearing."

Link huffed again, but it was not a pleased sound. Sheik had given up on arguing about it a long time ago. It was an unpleasant reminder, Link told him, that the Beast wasn't far away, just hiding in the back of his mind.

"And the kid won't have to suffer their parents alone," he said, deciding not to argue this time either, enjoying the feel of Link's strong frame holding him tightly. "We'll be uncles, after all."

 _Then again, between a vampire and a werewolf for uncles and_ those two _for parents and, Goddesses be good, fucking_ Ayla _for an aunt, the child will likely only end up even_ more _traumatised, possibly even insane,_ he thought with a mix of amusement and bitterness.

 **Uncles,** Link signed. **Gods help us all.**

Sheik chuckled. "Always so dramatic, Wolf," he said, settling himself more comfortably in Link's lap and reaching for the journal, letting his eyes scan over the lines of rambling writing for a few minutes. Link watched him curiously, but did not say anything until Sheik glanced up again. "I've been summoned," he said simply, feeling Link tense up beneath him. "I am searching for the meeting place, which Lord Martel of the Obrine Mountains so kindly left out of his invitation."

 **I'm going with you,** Link signed, to which Sheik simply shook his head.

"You can't," he said.

 **Just you watch me,** the Hylian said, his steely grey eyes narrowing a fraction, meeting Sheik's amber-and-crimson ones evenly.

"I mean that literally, Link," Sheik said, running a hand comfortingly through Link's hair, which was beginning to resemble something of a mane when he didn't bother smoothing it down. Sheik loved it. "You've been summoned too, by Master Terra. You're to present yourself at the Atelier three weeks from now."

Link blinked in confusion, and he didn't need to sign for Sheik to understand the question of why he was being summoned.

"You were never formally recognised as a hunter," he explained, still playing with the strands of untamed, blond hair. "Impa never had the time to write him a proper induction letter, and Kafei's not senior enough yet to do it himself. It's just a formality, apparently, but he still wants to see you for himself before recognising you."

 **Don't like it,** Link signed, curling himself around Sheik in a protective manner. **I should be with you**.

"I would still have had to go alone, you know," Sheik said, kissing the space between Link's eyebrows. "This is a vampires-only sort of thing. A formality, too, I think. They'll recognise me as lord of Hyrule, and send me on my way. I'll take the opportunity to ask for information on Ascal, and any possible safe houses he has. It's the best chance I've got of finding him." He sighed. "Before Terra has them all destroyed, that is."

 **What if they find you?** Link signed slowly, carefully. It was a sensitive subject. Being officially dead, Sheik was no longer a hunter, and if he were to come across any of his former compatriots on the road, they'd likely try to kill him because of the Grand Hunt on vampires Master Terra had declared after learning of the Studio's destruction at the hands of Ascal. Sheik had perished in that battle.

"I'll be careful," Sheik promised him. "I won't stay at inns I know will be frequented by hunters, and I'll keep off the roads I'm not familiar with. I'll even take the train most of the way, with a private cabin if possible."

Link isn't satisfied with his precautions, but the Hylian, too, has learned on which points his lover won't budge, and where to cut their disagreements short so they don't escalate to proper arguments. They'd wasted enough time on those as it was. Besides, Ard and Erd argued enough for the entire Sanctuary combined.

"Honestly, you should be more worried about yourself and making a good impression on Master Terra," Sheik continued, tapping Link's nose. "He's a hard man to impress, according to Impa."

**What can I expect?**

"Tough but fair questions, almost impossible standards when it comes to fighting and hunting techniques, but lenient," Sheik said. "He's something of a man of contradictions. I've only met him once, and he said I was both worthy _and_ unworthy of my name." He pouted at the memory. He'd been ten at the time. "He's a bastard, is what I'm saying."

Link cooed and rested his forehead against Sheik's. Link loved doing this, for reasons he was never able to explain. Sheik didn't mind. He found it endearing, as well as comforting.

"Not that it matters anymore, now that I'm dead," Sheik said, trying to play it off as a joke. It really was—a massive joke at his expense, courtesy of the Goddesses or whoever the hell was in charge of the universe at the time. "Suppose he'll announce that the title is up for the taking, at some point."

Link growled. **Your name,** he signed firmly.

"My _name_ is Aire," Sheik said, the sounds unfamiliar on his tongue. "You can call me that, you know. I don't mind."

 **Sheik,** Link maintained. _**My**_ **Sheik.**

"On that, I agree," Sheik said with a grin. "Yours. And you're mine. My Wolf."

**Your Wolf.**

Closing the journal and placing it in the leather satchel in which he kept Ascal's notes, Sheik rose from Link's lap with a sigh. "It's late, and I'm sure you're tired after the journey. Let's go to bed."

Link hummed pleasantly at the idea, and helped him gather the rest of Ascal's notes and storing them safely in the satchel. This was not the sort of information Sheik wanted to flow freely through the Sanctuary—only people he trusted were allowed to see it. It was a small circle, sadly, but Sheik hoped to expand it over time...after he'd killed Ascal.

He yelped when Link suddenly lifted him up and hefted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, weapons and all. "Link, what're you—your weapons!"

Link only trilled happily as he blew out the lantern and left the library, his weapons and equipment still left by the door. Theft wasn't a problem among the hunters or the recruits at the Sanctuary; Link's mark was clearly on every piece of his equipment. Sheik just didn't like clutter in his library. Sure, compared to just about any other library in the world, his was a disaster site in terms of organisation and order, but he was working on that, damn it! Weapons and explosives _certainly_ didn't belong in there!

Then again, once Link's mind was set on something, he was very hard to convince otherwise. Sheik had mentioned bed, and Link was eager to get him into it. Not that its primary purpose was the goal for the moment—Sheik could _smell_ the arousal coming off his lover, and _feel_ the blood coursing through Link's veins at a much faster pace than before. That alone was enough to get _him_ going too.

They were going to bed, but they would _not_ be sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Starting things off gently with the two idiots having a nice little reunion in the library. Their journeys begin in the next chapter!**


	3. In Which Sheik Jinxes Himself

The setting sun was sinking behind Death Mountain, its perpetual ring of smoke coloured blood-red by the light of the dying day. Sheik's eyes stung as he looked to the mountains around it, not envying Link the journey he'd have to make through them to reach the main road, which he'd take further south to the Atelier.

Sheik's own path would take him north, near the Iron Sea. An ancient holdfast, so old it was could not be found on any contemporary map, was his goal. The place where his claim on Hyrule would be recognised...and he'd hopefully find a lead on where to find Ascal. Perhaps the other vampires had found him already—though that would be a shame, since that'd mean Ascal would be long-dead by the time Sheik arrived.

"I wish you'd let one of us accompany you to the border, at least," Kafei said, bringing Sheik out of his thoughts, and his attention back to the group gathered in the Sanctuary's courtyard. His cousin had his arms crossed, tapping his foot in a staccato rhythm, eyes flicking from Sheik to the pack resting at his feet, and back to Sheik. "If only for a proper send-off."

"I travel faster on my own," Sheik said, shouldering his pack and trying not to let the grey eyes boring into the side of his skull bother him too much. Link hated it when either of them left the other. Hated people leaving in general, really. The pack should stay together, he'd sign sourly whenever they had to split up. "And before _you_ say anything," he continued, turning his head to look at his lupine lover, "you have your own journey to prepare for, and need a good night's sleep."

Link huffed and pouted. It wouldn't work. Sheik couldn't let it, or he'd never get going.

"Nevertheless," Kafei said. He wanted to argue. Sheik could see it in the tension of his shoulders. It was a good thing Kafei usually knew when a cause was lost, like now, because that was all he had to say about it. "Report in whenever you get a chance, at least," he demanded.

"I will send a letter back with the train from Felhearth when I arrive there," Sheik promised. "If only so you won't mobilise the entire region and send them after me."

"It's in my power to do that," Kafei said immediately. "Just give the word, and I'll swarm the place with so many hunters—"

"Duly noted," Sheik cut him off, nodding. "And appreciated," he added when Kafei looked profoundly disappointed with the dismissal. "I doubt it'll be necessary. This is just a formality."

"According to _his_ notes, yeah," Elenwe said, stepping forward to thrust a bundle of cloth into his hands. Freshly baked bread with some sort of cheese, judging by the smell. "Not much use to you nutritionally, I know, but hey...tradition, yeah?"

"Nothing wrong with my taste buds," Sheik said, giving his sister-in-law a smile. "Appreciate it."

"If nothing else, it'll remind you of home, and us," Elenwe said, drawing him into a hug. "Just hurry back," she said a little quieter, for his ears only (well, his and Link's, whose sense of hearing was only rivalled by his nosiness), "I want the child to meet their uncles first thing after they're born."

"No getting them acclimatised to the pair of you first? The poor thing won't stand a chance—hurgh!" Sheik's grin faltered when her fist connected with his solar plexus in a friendly but firm manner.

"Watch it, kid," she growled quietly. "You may be technically immortal at this point, but you can still feel _pain_."

"Duly noted," Sheik groaned, to which she grinned broadly and stepped back to stand beside her husband. Sheik rubbed the spot just below his ribcage and looked to Ayla, who wasn't much for teary goodbyes and was giving him a wicked-looking smile instead—the sort that spoke of trouble for anyone in the vicinity. If anything, it made Sheik _glad_ he was leaving right now. "Ayla," he said, raising his fist towards her.

"Stay safe, come back soon, kill the vamps, blah blah blah," she said, stepping a little closer to bump her fist against his offered one. "And all that shit—just don't do anything stupid, little brother. Stupider than usual, I mean." Such was the condensed wisdom of Ayla. Her eyes slid onto Link for a moment. "And don't worry, I'll get your beau safely to the Atelier and back. If anything, I think it'll be a struggle to get him to come back after seeing that place."

"Hey!" Kafei said, offended. "The Sanctuary may not be as big as the Atelier, but it's just as good."

"Interior decoration could use some work," she replied with a haughty sniff.

Sheik didn't join in, only grinning at the pair. In truth, it was a comfort that Ayla would be going with Link to the Atelier, if only to keep the Hylian grounded while in such unfamiliar territory. She'd been there before, and could guide him through the land...as well as the southern hunters' social circles, which could be somewhat exclusionary towards their northern cousins and colleagues.

Snobbish, is the word Sheik wanted to use, but Kafei almost tweaked his ear for that, so he only used it in his thoughts.

"Thanks, Ayla," he said, deciding that he didn't want to leave the Sanctuary a burning wreck—which was bound to happen if he left the pair of them to continue. He had to protect his library, after all. "Just don't let Link chase the...er...you know..." he trailed off, realising his lover's eyes were on him again, shining with interest. He gave the Gerudo a helpless look, but she had helpfully understood his meaning, nodding gravely.

"No need to worry, little brother," she said. "I'll have distractions prepared."

Link growled with annoyance, not happy with being kept in the dark, but based on his previous behaviour when confronted with certain...creatures, Sheik wanted to ensure there would be no fallout, political or otherwise, from his visit to the Atelier. It was bad enough that a werewolf was going to enter the heart of an organisation that, if they knew what he was, would not hesitate to kill him. Either of them, really.

He wasn't happy about that. Were it up to him, Link would never need to go near another large workshop ever again; would never have to put himself at such risk. But one did not simply ignore a summons from Master Terra, _the_ Master Hunter, and de facto head of the organisation.

_An old bastard who insists on sticking his nose where it doesn't belong_ , Impa had once called him. Sheik was inclined to agree. _Meddlesome, even for a Sheikah. Avoid dealing with him whenever you can._

"I'll keep him safe," Ayla muttered, as if sensing Sheik's thoughts. "I swear it."

Link huffed and rolled his eyes. **As if I need protection,** he signed.

_I wish I shared your confidence, Link,_ Sheik thought, giving his lover a placating look. "It never hurts to have a guide who's familiar with the area, the language, and the customs, though," he said. "Unless you've _actually_ been reading the material I suggested to you the other day?"

Link didn't answer, but his flickering gaze that refused to land anywhere near him was more than enough to confirm that he had, in fact, _not_ read the books and notes the Atelier and Sheik had suggested. There hadn't been enough time. Granted, Sheik himself had been _somewhat_ responsible for that particular problem, but strangely enough he didn't feel too guilty about it.

"Just don't punch Fayri again," Kafei said with a pleading look. "Impa was barely able to settle the dispute that time—"

"I won't punch Fayri as long as he doesn't open his big, fat mouth again," Ayla declared. "I can't be held responsible for my body's automatic reactions to the utter shit that spews forth from it."

"The mouth _is_ big and fat on that one," Elenwe agreed with a nod.

Kafei looked at Sheik with despair in his eyes. "We're going to have a diplomatic incident on our hands by the time they get back, aren't we?"

"So it would seem, cousin," Sheik said, hefting his pack once more after stowing the food from Elenwe into it. "And now I should get going, or I won't make it to the morning express. Give my best to—"

"Boss!"  
"Boss!"

Sheik fought the urge to turn around and sprint out of the compound at the twin calls, a pair of dark shapes detaching themselves from a shadowed corner of the training yard, charging directly towards him at full speed. Honestly, he wouldn't have made it far. Whatever strength and speed his transformation had granted him, Eren and Nikal always managed to outpace him. He'd almost wondered if they weren't vampires themselves, sometimes, but then he supposed at their age boundless energy was just a fact of life.

"All right, you two," he said, knowing quite well what was about to happen. "A quick goodbye, and then it's off to—ooph!"

Well, more often than not he ended up on his back at least once every time he was out on a journey. This way, he got it out of the way early. He could do without the weights of his former employees on his chest though—they were getting heavier and heavier by the day, what with the muscle they were building through their hunter training.

_I really should have started them on it earlier,_ he thought, patting the top of their heads as they squeezed him tightly before climbing off him, pulling him to his feet with little to no effort. They always found that immensely funny, how light he was.

"You'll bring us back something cool, right?" Nikal asked brazenly, grinning up at him.

"Like a vamp head?" Eren suggested, though at least he had the courtesy to add a tiny "Please?" afterwards.

"My goal up there isn't to kill vampires," Sheik said weakly, shaking his head. "But...I'll see what else I can find, all right?"

"I want the best thing!" Nikal declared.

Somewhere to his right, Kafei groaned. Sheik sympathised. While definitely skilled and clever enough to become fine hunters, the kids had never been much for discipline...at least not when it came from other people. They obeyed Sheik readily enough, but then again they had quite a bit of history.

"Again, we'll see what I find," Sheik said, extracting himself from the tight hold of the kids. "And now I _really_ have to go, if I want to make it there in time." He patted their shoulders. "Be good while I'm away, yeah?"

"We'll try," Eren said cheekily.

"Good enough," Sheik declared, spinning on his heel. "I will be back in a month."

"Stay strong," Kafei said. " _And_ _may the moon guide your path,_ " he added in the Sheikah tongue. Usually, it was the sun that was meant to guide one's path, but since sunlight no longer agreed very much with Sheik, he'd modified it. Touching and ridiculous at the same time; Kafei in a nutshell.

He began to walk, more than aware of Link falling into step just behind him. He'd long since given up on winning against Link about this...though a token struggle had to be put up, nevertheless. "I can find the road on my own, you know," he said.

Link huffed, and Sheik spied his hands moving in signs in the corner of his vision.

**You once got lost in Zelda's castle,** Link signed. **I'm not taking any chances.**

"Once," Sheik hissed. " _Once!_ And I was eleven years old, and on my first visit!"

**Her castle isn't** _ **that**_ **big,** Link pointed out.

"It's big enough," Sheik growled.

**And you still haven't said goodbye to** _**me.** _

"Because I knew you'd be following me," Sheik said as they passed through the gates of the Sanctuary, adorned with the banners of their fake mercenary band, The Company of the Wolf. Link had _not_ been amused with the name; Sheik had been in stitches.

The old fort that now housed the Sanctuary squatted on an outcropping of cliffs just outside Kakariko Village, overlooking the river that fed into Castle Town's moat many miles away. The villagers had been sceptical towards an unknown mercenary band that were suddenly going to occupy the one defensive measure the village had, but their protests had quickly fallen silent when it was revealed that Kafei was in charge.

The Sheikah had always been welcomed in Kakariko, due to the protection once offered by the guardians of the Shadow Temple (an old religious site from the days of the Hero of Time, if you believed that sort of thing). The guardians were long gone, of course, but their influence remained in the general architecture of the village, along with certain customs the villagers still observed.

The rest of Hyrule thought them odd, but the inhabitants of Kakariko didn't care. In fact, a few villagers had even voiced an interest in joining the Company of the Wolf, and Kafei was planning on interviewing them, to see if there were potential hunters he could recruit.

Having reached the river and the stone bridge crossing it, Sheik looked into the open expanse of the Hyrule Fields, and the dirt road that snaked its way among the hills. It felt strange, not having a horse for such a long trip, but he was faster than a horse in the dark—his vision was better, and he did not need nearly as much rest. A perk of the transformation—one of the few, in his opinion.

They paused, as they always did, and Link touched Sheik's shoulder ( _so gently_ ) and made him turn towards him. Link trilled, a happy and sad sound at the same time, and leaned forward, kissing Sheik deeply.

They never said goodbye. The word felt wrong to say—like a bad omen—especially on an occasion like this. Sheik had no doubts that he was about to walk into a very dangerous situation in the north, just like Link was in the south (albeit for very different reasons). Truth be told, he wasn't sure _what_ he was walking into, thanks to Ascal and his exceedingly untidy mind—his notes too vague to be of any use when it came to vampire etiquette...at least on an occasion like this.

Link's hand found Sheik's cheek, the Hylian's thumb brushing across the tear-shaped tattoo just below Sheik's left eye.

It was small, easily mistaken for a freckle unless viewed up close. A sign of mourning. He'd gotten it soon after the situation in Hyrule had stabilised, to remember those fallen at the Studio. He'd always meant to get one to honour his parents and twin sister, but Impa had always said no, telling him that dwelling in the past was pointless...while walking around with a tattoo just like it of her own. She'd do the mourning for the both of them, had been her meaning, though she'd never actually told him this. He'd had to assume, or guess.

_Well, I got one now to remember_ you _, aunt,_ he'd thought defiantly as Ayla had performed the delicate work with a small needle. _How do you like_ that _?!_

At first he'd worried his enhanced healing would reject the ink as a foreign body and make it disappear, but it remained, strangely enough, unlike the scars on his body, which had long since disappeared after Ascal had turned him.

He may, Sheik admitted to himself privately, still have some ways to go in learning not to be a petty arsehole...but then again, the dynamic between him and Impa had always been a little...tense. And frankly, he sometimes missed their arguments.

He missed _her_.

**Be careful out there,** Link signed as they separated. **If you find him...leave some for me.**

"Wouldn't dream of anything else," Sheik said. "Don't do anything stupid at the Atelier. Remember, be honest if Master Terra asks you anything, but not _too_ honest."

**That...is the least useful advice you have ever given me, I think,** Link signed, a wry smile on his lips.

"My speciality," Sheik said, smiling back. "I'll see you soon, Wolf."

By the time he finally managed to step out of Link's hold and get moving, he was behind schedule by half an hour. He'd given Link a look of annoyance, to which the Hylian had simply grinned and waved cheerfully in return, and began to jog lightly to make up for lost time.

_Here we go again,_ he thought. _At least this time I only have myself to worry about_.

Looking back on this moment, weeks later, he wished he could go back in time and kick himself in the behind for jinxing the entire thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slinks in* I really wish I had a better excuse for the lateness of this, but...life got in the way...and then Mass Effect: Andromeda did. My apologies. I wish I could give an estimate on when the next chapter will come out, but I think we all know how rubbish I am at keeping to a schedule at this point, heh...so, until next time!


	4. Collateral Damage

Jhaan regarded the block of wood in her hand, tracing the grain with a tip of her finger as she tried to imagine the best shape for this particular piece. That was always the hardest part, in her opinion, not to mention sticking with her decision, which usually changed seconds after she'd started. A short attention span, or lack of focus, her instructor had claimed. It would be her undoing one day, apparently. It had stung, at the time, when he'd told her she wouldn't make it past the age of eighteen if she didn't mend her ways. Easier said than done...but here she was, twenty-five and still going strong. The instructor had been killed on a hunt two years after telling her this, so the joke was clearly on him.

"Bear," she mumbled, deciding on the first animal that came to mind, while also trying to ignore the sounds from the tent behind her. They were trying to keep quiet for her benefit, she knew, but Reyne was...well, he couldn't help it, really.

She narrowed her eyes, imagining the bear in her mind's eye, and then applied that shape to the block of wood. The flickering flames of their campfire wasn't the best light source for high-precision woodwork, so it had to remain somewhat simple, with few details. That was fine—it was difficult to focus anyway, what with the sheer noise the other hunters were making within the fortress walls, still celebrating their victory. Fools. She'd relished in the knowledge that they'd killed a vampire, but that was no reason to feast like they'd just rid the entire _world_ of the parasites. That was still a long way away, but...it was a start.

She clicked her tongue and forced her attention back to the wood, and finally let her knife touch it, peeling and cutting fibres away, slowly shaping it into the image of a bear standing on its hind legs, roaring with one paw raised to destroy whatever was in its way. A ten-year-old Jhaan would scoff at her pastime, wondering why she wasn't out hunting something, or sparring, or...well, anything that _didn't_ involve sitting down patiently and working at an hours-long task. Even polishing her weaponry would have been better than this...but then Jhaan had already done that three times tonight, and she was growing restless.

Oh, she'd been invited to join the other two in the tent, but she had not been in the mood. She had never been fond of such activities in the wild, without access to proper bathing facilities (or even a river, really). Reyne and Magnus understood, of course, but they still made the offer—it was only right, after all.

The block was in the general _shape_ of a bear by the time she heard the approaching footsteps. Anywhere else, she would have tensed and reached for the closest gun and knife, but the newcomer was deliberately announcing their presence with heavy footfalls and jingling equipment. They were just being polite. Jhaan kept her eyes on her project, trying to figure out her next step as a shape appeared out of the darkness, cleared their throat, and then seated themselves by the fire to Jhaan's right.

"New figurine?" she asked, finally making Jhaan look at her. "What's it going to be?"

"Bear," Jhaan replied quietly, her voice lowered for the benefit of the other two. They'd fallen silent sometime during her work, and she didn't want to wake them. "Attacking something."

The other woman hummed, crimson eyes shining in the light of the fire. "Your partners?"

"In the tent," Jhaan replied. It was a stupid question. Where else would they be? "They had a long day."

"We've all had." She hummed again. "Surprised you're not with them."

"Needed some time alone," Jhaan replied, and for once she wasn't serving up a half-truth. She had really needed a few peaceful moments for herself. Not that she ever used them for anything important, but sometimes she just...had to be alone. She couldn't even explain it to herself, which annoyed her to no end, but what else could she do but accept it as yet another quirk in a long line of them, most of which annoyed anyone who came into contact with her for more than a few hours at a time.

"I see, then I am sorry for disturbing you." It was a genuine apology, which Jhaan appreciated, but wasn't sure what to do with. After all, she was still here.

"I assume it's important, whatever this is about," Jhaan said. "So cut to the chase, Ina."

Ina sighed, more than used the other Sheikah's bluntness, but still exasperated by it. "New orders arrived a few hours ago."

"Finally," Jhaan said, marking the spots for the bear's eyes and mouth with the tip of her knife. "We finally heading for the next vamp?" She'd been waiting for this ever since the rush of taking the vampire's head had worn off the night after the deed. It had only been three days, but she was already anxious to move on to the next parasite, to continue the cleansing.

"We are," Ina said, though her tone was careful, hesitant. That usually meant trouble, and Jhaan fought the urge to roll her eyes. "We're packing up camp in the morning, heading east."

"Buuuuuuuut...?" Jhaan prompted, taking her eyes off her work to regard the older woman with a distrustful look.

"A special task was assigned to your party," Ina said, grimacing when Jhaan's eyes didn't leave hers. "It wasn't my idea," she said.

"Whose, then?"

"Luta's."

"Fuck!" Jhaan spat and nearly hurled the block of wood into the fire, but restrained herself. She'd promised Magnus. Had to try reigning herself in, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. Fucking Magnus... "Of course it was," she said, pretending not to notice the wary look Ina was giving her, ignoring the tightness it caused in her chest. "And what is this _special_ task he has dredged up for us?"

Ina breathed out, relieved. Jhaan's chest stung again, and she forced the feeling down. They'd grown up together; was Ina really _that_ scared of her? Digging around in her satchel, Ina withdrew a piece of paper that she passed to Jhaan. "A new vampire lord of Hyrule was declared this winter—his initiation is supposed to take place a few weeks from now."

Jhaan unfolded the paper and read the orders, the neat letters immediately identifying it as Luta's. Pernickety bastard, even his handwriting pissed her off. "Ambush, huh?" she drawled.

"Luta thinks it best that he's not allowed to officially claim the lordship—it will weaken them further."

"Good idea...except we have no idea which route he will take, what he looks like, or even his name." Jhaan shook her head and crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the fire. "Luta just wants us out of the way so his own guys can take the credit for the other vamps." Ina shook her head and opened her mouth to presumably deny it, but Jhaan continued, "I saw him at the feast—sure didn't like the idea of the Freaks getting the first kill of the hunt. Fucker probably thought he'd be the one to bag it."

Ina frowned. "I wish you wouldn't call yourselves that—"

"It's what everyone else calls us, might as well stay consistent," Jhaan said with a shrug, pretending that it didn't sting every time she heard the nickname. Not for her own sake—she'd dealt with it since she was a child, but Reyne and Magnus didn't deserve it just for associating with her. For being her...her... "So he doesn't want us to show up his own party, or the others. I assume there's no point in arguing, either?"

"He was...adamant," Ina said, her frown almost turning into a pout. "I'm sorry, Jhaan."

"Not your fault," Jhaan said. "I blame whoever made him pathfinder in the face of his inadequacy as a leader."

Which meant she blamed the entirety of the hunters' leadership, questioning their decision. She'd done a lot of that through the years, never able to keep her mouth shut when it counted. She wondered if that was a trait she'd inherited from her parents, whoever they were, or if it was something she'd decided to do on her own after getting pissed off one too many times. Maybe a combination of both.

"Maybe we'll be lucky and he gets eaten at some point?"

Jhaan blinked at the older Sheikah, whose cheeks had reddened somewhat. She graciously decided _not_ to make a big deal of that fact that the pathfinder's second had just made such a joke. "It'd put someone worthy in command, at least," she said, cackling inwardly when Ina blushed even more. Scared of her or not, Jhaan always delighted in making the older woman's cheeks turn red like tomatoes. "At least you wouldn't send us away," she added.

"It is still an important task," Ina said gravely once she fought down the blush, running her hand through her hair, which was free of its usual bun. "Every kill counts, after all."

"And I'd maybe even be happy about the mission if we actually had intelligence worth a damn," Jhaan said. "As it is, we'll be forced to examine every single northbound traveller on over a dozen roads. That's not possible, and Luta knows it. He'll blame us for failing to catch a single vampire, and hold it over our heads for years to come." She stabbed her knife into the wood a little too hard, cursing quietly when it split. Sighing, she glanced back at the tent. "I'm holding them back."

Ina said nothing. There was nothing to say, because it was the truth. Jhaan had no delusions about what she was, or the effect she had on people. Had no personal issues with it either, really. She just hated how it affected Reyne and Magnus, whose only crime was to be her...her...

"Tell him we'll head out in the morning," she finally said, nodding to Ina. "And we'll bring the thing's head back."

And make him kiss it, she added to herself. Now there was _her_ idea of a funny joke.

Ina smiled and nodded. "I'll let him know. If I don't see you before you leave, I wish you luck, sister."

"And I you, sister," Jhaan replied, watching as the other Sheikah stood up and left the circle of light, disappearing among the trees, heading back to the main camp within the fortress walls. How she managed to be in Luta's party and _not_ clobber him over the head every time he opened his mouth was a mystery to Jhaan, and she could only admire Ina's patience and self-control for it. There was a future Master Hunter in that girl, Jhaan knew, if only fucking Luta would stop getting in the way.

The wood split under her knife again, and this time Jhaan _did_ throw the damn thing on the fire with a snarl, too angry to work on it now. Even this Luta had to ruin. She was strongly considering going for the bottle of wine she knew Reyne kept in his pack, hoping to find some solace in that, but the sound of shifting cloth behind her brought her attention to their tent...and the worried face poking out of it.

Reyne's lips were set in a frown, his eyes studying her closely. He knew what she was about to do, and he did not approve. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"New orders," Jhaan said, deliberately turning away from Reyne's pack. It eased some of the tension in his face. "We're off hunting the new vampire lord of Hyrule." She gave him a quick description, at the end of which he was positively glaring in the direction of the main camp.

"Luta wants us out of the way, then," he said.

"He wants _me_ out the way," Jhaan corrected. "You're just collateral damage."

"An insult to you is an insult to all of us," Reyne said. "He's getting worse."

"I know," Jhaan said, stowing her things away and approaching the tent. "Make room, will you? It's cold."

Reyne was only too happy to let her into the tent, and made no comment as she snuggled into the spot between him and Magnus. The eldest hunter was fast asleep, far away in his dreams, but his arms still groped blindly until they found Jhaan, and drew her close, her back nestled against the northman's broad chest. Reyne did the same at her front, firmly sandwiching her in a tight embrace.

Few things enabled Jhaan to release the perpetual tension in her shoulders, to ease her ever-racing mind. She had never been able to figure out why she was like this—no doctor could find anything physically wrong with her, and she had never met anyone whose minds worked like hers. The only description she'd heard that came even close to how she felt most of the time was being stuck in a perpetual state of fight-or-flight. It certainly explained her attention span, or lack thereof. Her need to get away from people.

...well, certain people.

_These_ people, though...her party. Her boys. She never felt that need with them, and in moments like these, where Magnus was breathing deeply in his peaceful sleep (and not muttering through his nightmares for once), and Reyne's breath ghosting across her neck as he fought to stay awake to keep her company...well, that fight-or-flight state went away, if only for a little while.

She could live with that.

Pulling Reyne closer, she kissed his forehead and closed her eyes. "Get some sleep," she whispered. "We're leaving at dawn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, if only they knew who Luta was having them hunt...


	5. Link's Promise

Link couldn't contain the smile that broke out on his face as he stood on the edge of the cliff, watching the world sprawling in the distance. Mighty rivers mere lines meandering through green fields and forests, occasionally dividing a town or city before continuing towards the horizon, where the ocean waited. Lazy puffs of cloud drifted in the skies overhead, framed by a sky so blue it almost made him wonder if he was dreaming, the sun warming him comfortably. The air smelled fresh and crisp and cold; every breath refreshing as they filled his chest.

"Quite a view, huh?" Ayla asked, coming to a stop beside him. She, too, took a deep breath, as well as a moment to admire the splendour. "I haven't made this trip very often, especially not via the Jagged range, but this perspective of the world? Always makes it worth it."

**How far?** Link signed after clearing his throat to draw her attention.

Ayla hummed, squinting into the distance. "No more than a week and a half, at a normal pace," she said, pointing towards a distant, shining point in the distance, near another, smaller mountain range. A particularly large cliff, slanting sideways, hung over one of the pencil-line rivers, near the coast, which was still nearly invisible. "See that? That's Ravana. The Atelier squats at the tip of that cliff, overlooking the city itself."

Link nodded, still smiling. He was looking forward to seeing the city state up close—it was apparently ten times the size of Castle Town, and constantly growing due to the economic boom it was currently experiencing due to the richness of its silver mines. The last bit made him a little nervous, but as long as he didn't touch anything and stayed _far_ away from the mines themselves, he'd be safe (or so the twins had informed him, and he had no reason to disbelieve them). The thought of so many people, so many buildings, so many lives, so many smells... The thought nearly made him giddy.

"Remember, we won't be able to sightsee until _after_ we have presented you to Master Terra," Ayla reminded him, gently tapping his arm and nodding towards their mounts, which were waiting patiently by the road.

Gentle creatures hired for their calm demeanour and great strength, they'd offered no trouble through the mountains so far, despite the wolf howls that permeated the region at night...not to mention Link's own scent, which made more skittish animals quite nervous, to his chagrin). They did not seem to mind Link's, for which he was thankful...though he could not help but feel a pang of sorrow for the loss of Epona, back at the Studio. He had no idea if she'd been killed during the battle, or if she'd been captured by the surviving people of Whiteridge. He hoped for the latter—she didn't deserve to die in that fiasco. No one had.

**Afterwards, though?** Link signed, unleashing the most adorable, hopeful look he could muster on his travelling companion, complete with the fluttering of eyelashes. The effect had been marred somewhat by the fact that his eyes were no longer the sapphire-blue before his run-in with the wolfos, but even so he found it to be a potent weapon, especially against people with a weakness for cute, pathetic things. Ayla, to his surprise, was one of them...not that she'd ever willingly admit it, though.

Ayla sighed. "Yes, we'll be able to sightsee afterwards, provided Terra doesn't have an urgent message to take back to Kaf. And _yes_ ," she said long-sufferingly when Link's hands made to sign again, "I will help you find gifts for Sheik, the princess, and everyone else." She grumbled as she climbed into her saddle. "Goddess save me from smitten tourists..."

Link huffed in an imitation of a laugh and climbed into his own saddle, patting Farro's neck before gently urging the horse forward, their pace an easy trot as they began descending the hills into the land below.

As far as journeys went, this was Link's favourite, Sheik's absence notwithstanding. Worried as he was about his man, he knew there wasn't anything he could do about it...not to mention the fact that Sheik would be scolding him fiercely for being so distracted on a road that was, in theory, quite dangerous and swarming with bandits. Not that any bandit with a brain in their skull would take a look at the pair of hunters, bristling with weaponry and carrying themselves with the ease of someone used to wielding them, and decide this was their big break.

So, he was insistent on enjoying it for as long as he could. And he had. The trip through the mountains had provided him with sights not even the snowy ranges of Whiteridge had—Death Mountain in particular had been a spectacular thing to behold, occasionally spewing red, glowing tendrils from its caldera as they had ridden past it (at a safe distance, naturally). The roaming wolf packs of the Jagged ranges had offered entertainment, too...at least for Link. Unlike Ayla, who seemed to find their howls annoying (and ruining her sleep, damn it!), Link had relished them, listening and wishing dearly that his voice wasn't gone, so he could respond in kind. That'd probably not prove too popular with Ayla, however, so he'd probably have to settle for listening anyway.

And now this, the view from the top of the world (or near it, at any rate).

He'd been warned about it beforehand, but the change in climate was still surprising once they reached the dense forests below the mountains. His long duster coat, leather for protection against various fluids (mostly blood) that were inevitable during a hunt, soon had him boiling, and it wasn't long before the two of them were riding in their undershirts, trouser legs rolled up to their knees.

Down here, the air was hot and moist, almost unbearably so. In the densest parts of the forest, each breath was almost a struggle, difficult to draw in. Link was not surprised that he found this a difficult environment, used to the temperate region of Hyrule. He was, however, nonplussed when Ayla, too, seemed to find the climate difficult to bear. When he questioned this, she'd given him a sour look, and said,

"I'm a Gerudo, remember? I can handle dry desert heat, but this humid shit? There's a reason I stay north of the Jaggeds. Hell, even a stretch on a windless ocean and a cloudless sky is preferable to this."

Link wisely did not mention what was happening to her hair in this environment.

She'd punctuated her sentence by chugging half a flask of water, replacing the fluids she was losing through sweating.

That was not Link's favourite bit of the journey. The heat in this place was bad enough without forcing him to soak his clothes through completely. The only thing that made it bearable was the ample amount of rivers and small lakes that let them refresh themselves (usually with their clothes on, except on one particularly embarrassing occasion on which the Hylian had surprised Ayla while she was undressing. She'd found it hilarious, but Link was still mortified whenever she suggested they go skinny-dipping).

The forests were magnificent, though. Gigantic trees, surely hundreds of years old, were a regular sight along the road, the foliage so thick he could not even spot the hundreds of animals that lived here. He couldn't see them, but he could certainly smell them, and it made the Beast very excited, the desire to chase them nearly overwhelming.

Yes, he quite liked this part of the world. During the day, at least.

In the night, under the cover of darkness, it came alive in an entirely different way. It was one thing for Ayla to insist they maintain a huge campfire every night to keep away predators (the sort that required weeks of preparation and a large party to hunt), but the sheer _noise_ of the place was torture because of his enhanced hearing...and based on how grumpy Ayla was in the morning, she wasn't fond of the sounds either. Had it just been the nocturnal animals that made the racket, it would have been fine, but when the hundreds of millions of _insects_ around them decided to chime in, Link found he doubted that any lycanthropes inhabited the area. _He_ certainly couldn't.

"It'll get better when we reach the lowlands," Ayla promised him after a long, sleepless night. "The air loses some of the moisture, the forests aren't as thick, not as many insects. If I wake up to another bloody spider in my boot..."

Her nonchalance in the face of the many poisonous bugs and other creatures in this region was a bit unsettling, but then Link reminded himself that this was the same woman who'd faced down a twelve-pounder without flinching during a sea battle (or so she claimed), so perhaps a pest with too many legs seeking refuge in her boots during the night _was_ just a minor annoyance...

Link was _not_ amused, however, when he found his bedroll invaded by a segmented, many-legged creature that looked far too similar to the Controllers Sheik had described for comfort. Granted, it was quite small, but having it crawl across his face was not how he preferred to wake up. Ayla had been breathless with laughter, for which she earned a punch in the shoulder. She took it without flinching.

She hadn't lied when she'd said things would get easier once they reached the lowlands. The trees thinned out considerably, and the air became far easier to breathe in. The roads became better and easier for their mounts to traverse, and little pockets of civilization made appearances in the form of small villages and towns. They were still quite a way from the main road, however, and the settlements did not appreciate outsiders—especially not the sort with fair skin and pointy ears, like Link's. Ayla, whose skin tone closer matched the olive of the people here, was not given the same sort of glares Link got.

"Don't mind them," she said after passing through a village in which someone had thrown a rotten piece of fruit at him (and thankfully missed). "They don't know any better."

Glaring behind him, Link signed, **Sheik deals with this no matter where he goes.**

"All Sheikah do," she said, nodding. "And Gerudo aren't too popular in Hyrule, either. Lot of bad history."

**And here?**

"Hyrule has its own dirty past," was her reply. "Ask Zelda or Sheik if you want to know more. I'm sure between them they could write an encyclopaedia on the subject."

Link nodded. He wasn't as naïve as to think Hyrule had a spotless past—but he hadn't expected it to have such long-lasting ramifications.

A day or so later, they finally reached the paved main road that would take them directly to Ravana. Wide enough to accommodate at least four carriages abreast, the cobbles saw an impressive amount of traffic at all hours of the day. The majority of this traffic seemed to be traders and merchants going to and from the various city states that defined this region. Trade was rich between them all, but Ravana was the crown jewel of the commercial district. Their export was mainly silver, naturally, but also certain dyes made from plants that only grew along its coastline, as well as fish. In return, they imported nearly _everything_ , and Link lost count trying to keep track of the many different wares the merchants they passed on the road were transporting.

He'd hoped their pace would increase after reaching the road, but they were slowed down considerably by the many guard stations that dotted the road at certain intervals. A pair of travellers carrying as many weapons as they did roused a lot of suspicion, and they were not recognised for what they were.

"These soldiers aren't from Ravana," Ayla had pointed out, pointing at a pair of guards that were wearing uniforms of different colours, but were conversing in a jovial, relaxed manner. "The various cities guard their own sections of the road. The Atelier only has an arrangement with Ravana—no one else."

**How come?** Link had asked.

"Politics," the Gerudo had said, blowing a raspberry. "Ravana's price for hosting the Atelier and paying them handsomely to take care of their monsters for them. The hunters here can work for the other cities, but not on a large scale. Small jobs, small parties. Not that it stops certain hunters from moonlighting elsewhere, of course, but they just have to be more...covert. Like we have to be in Hyrule, you know?"

**Stupid** , Link had signed, a less-than-impressed look on his face.

"Yup, but that's what we get for trying to maintain the secrecy of certain creatures out there," she said, wiping her forehead with a cloth. The sun was setting, but it was still hot as sin. "If you want to tell the general population about the existence of the wolfos and what they can do to a person, be my guest, but I won't take responsibility for the panic and fear that'll erupt."

They pulled off the road to make camp for the night in a small copse of trees, just out of sight of the road. Just as they'd gotten the fire going and were preparing their supper, they became aware of another group of travellers turning off the road very close to them, on the other side of the road. They were loud, and raucous laughter echoed through the trees.

"We're close," Ayla said. "Another day, and we'll reach Ravana's border. From there it's another half day, and we'll be at the gates."

That made Link smile, but it soon faded when another wave of obnoxious laughter from the other camp reached his ears. There was something about the sounds and smells from their direction that put him on edge—their presence was just unpleasant on every level. He felt ridiculous for feeling like this, but then again Ayla didn't seem too impressed with their neighbours either, her shoulders tense.

**Something wrong?** Link asked.

"Nothing," she said, giving him a terse smile.

**You look like you have a stomach ache,** he signed, mimicking her expression and posture. **Should I be ready for a fight?**

"No, no, nothing like that," she said, shaking her head. "I just...I think there are hunters in the other camp. I recognise some of the voices. Or, they sound familiar, at least." She gritted her teeth. "There's another reason I don't come down here very often, and it's nothing to do with the climate."

Link interrupted her then, his ears picking up boots on cobbles, and then on gravel, approaching them at a leisurely pace. Too leisurely.

**Visitors,** he signed to her.

"Damn it," she muttered. "How many?"

He listened for a moment, heard how many distinctive sets there were. **Three,** he signed. **Carrying weapons. Powder.**

"Right," Ayla said, remaining seated by the fire. "Whatever happens, stay calm, all right?"

"Ho there!"

The newcomer's voice was rough and unpleasant, and the smell of alcohol reached Link's nose long before they rounded the bend, arms raised in greeting. Hats and coats, swords by their sides and at least one pistol to a man. High collars pulled down. They wore no sigils or marks, showing no affiliation to a nation or city. Hunters at best, bandits at worst.

"Ho there!" Ayla said in greeting, raising her arm. "Come share our fire!" Her eyes narrowed as she scanned their faces when they neared the fire. Her jaw clenched. "Fuck," she whispered.

"Thought we heard someone talking back here," the lead hunter said, a grin spreading on his face. "Didn't think it'd be _you_ , though. How're you, Ayla?"

"Doing fine, Mel," Ayla replied, false cheer in her voice turned so high it nearly made Link roll his eyes. "Yourself?"

"Oh, just fab," he replied, stopping a few paces from their fire. Link felt their gazes upon him, and he did _not_ like the look the tall, blonde man at the back was giving him. Hunger.

The three newcomers were all human, which surprised Link since he'd been told during his training that hunter parties usually included at least _one_ Sheikah, to maintain the organisation's motivations and goals. Maybe there was a shortage of the red-eyed warriors down here?

"Surprised to see you so far south, Ayla," Mel continued, his eyes flitting between the two of them. "Last I heard, you swore to never come back here after last time's...event."

"Heard you were banished," the blonde one added with leery eyes, which were soon back on Link. The Hylian responded with a glare.

"No," Ayla replied. "Not banished, just strongly advised to leave. And now I'm back."

"Gonna introduce us to your friend?" Mel asked, looking at Link. "New whelp?"

"This is Link, of Hyrule," Ayla said. "I'm taking him to the Atelier to be recognised as a hunter."

A look of realisation came over Mel's face, and he grinned at Link. "Ah, yes, I remember hearing talk of that. The last pup from the Studio." He frowned, a completely insincere look of sympathy coming to his face. "My condolences, about Master Impa, and the others. A horrific loss."

"Thank you," Ayla said in a neutral tone. The one that said she wasn't believing a single word coming out of his mouth. "We're still reeling from it."

"So, how'd you join up, pup?" Mel asked.

Link frowned. Why was Mel calling him _pup_ and _whelp_? Surely he didn't know...? His hands moving, signing a quick (made-up) story of how he came about joining the hunters, but he was met with looks of confusion and a chuckle from the blonde man.

"What's this?" Mel asked. "He can't speak?"

"Mute," Ayla said simply. "We get by with sign language and written notes."

"Hard to communicate on hunts, though?" Mel asked with a snort. "How do you let each other know what's going on?"

"Whistling and other sounds," Ayla said. "And the signing is actually very useful when trying to sneak up on prey."

"Pity, though," the blonde said. "I'm sure he'd have a lovely voice. Maybe I could coax it out?"

"Come off it, Rog," Mel said, chuckling. "Forgive him, Link, he's an idiot."

Link nodded, making sure to give Rog a venomous look for good measure. Wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole, Link told himself.

"So, your name is Rog," Ayla said, looking at the third hunter, a black-haired, dour-looking gentleman who appeared to be in his forties. Old for a hunter. "And you? I believe we haven't had the pleasure...?"

"Severin," the man replied.

It was from him the smell of alcohol was most noticeable, Link realised. The man's eyes were glazed over, his cheeks and nose red. He also hadn't washed in a while, a sour undertone hiding beneath the smell of booze. Granted, all five of them were kind of ripe due to the heat, but Severin in particular was just...nasty.

"A pleasure," Ayla said, nodding. "Your camp is still quite noisy—large party?"

"Escorting a few merchants to Kreos," Mel explained. "Wine merchants—very generous about letting us sample their wares."

"Escort to Kreos?" Ayla asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's no more than two days' ride north of here, on the road. No need—"

"For an escort, I agree," Mel interrupted. "But hey, they paid handsomely for the three of us to look dangerous and nasty, so...who were we to disagree?"

"Master Terra might have something to say about that sort of moonlighting."

Mel scowled. "Well, what Master Terra doesn't know can't hurt him, right? I'm sure we can count on your silence...like last time?"

Link didn't know the circumstances of Ayla's last visit to Ravana, or her history with this Mel character. What he _did_ know was what he saw, and the sudden change in Ayla's breathing and heartbeat, perceptible only to him, coupled with a subtle difference in her scent—annoyance, anger, nervousness and...fear? He had difficulties imagining Ayla being afraid of anything, but the fact that she felt even a smidgen of it for this man...it nearly had his blood boiling. She was part of his pack, and he had to protect his _pack_!

"No," she said, almost able to keep the hesitance out of her voice. "I suppose...it doesn't."

"Good, because we wouldn't want anything to tarnish anyone's...reputations, would we?" Mel asked, his grin just a little too wide to be friendly. "Though a repeat performance wouldn't be unwelcome, no? We have a very comfortable camp, and I'm sure we could...could..."

Mel trailed off as Link rose to his feet, glaring daggers at the three of them.

"Got a problem, pup?" Mel asked, grinning.

Link didn't bother with niceties. He pointed a finger in the direction they'd come, and jerked his head towards it for emphasis.

"Want us to leave? But we were invited to share your fire," said Rog, smiling. "Surely you would not chase us away in such an uncouth manner?"

"I'm sure my partner here is just reminding you that you're on a job," Ayla said, her voice hiding a slight tremble Link hoped only he could hear. "Your merchants must be getting quite nervous, what with their muscle having disappeared? It's not good manners, leaving them alone when you're getting paid to watch their backs?" She shrugged, a bit of swagger returning. "Then again, what do I know? I was always on the other side of that particular struggle, being a pirate and all."

"Ah, yes, of course, thank you for reminding us, pup," Mel said, still smiling though his eyes had gone cold. "It's so easy, getting lost reminiscing with old, _intimate_ friends, isn't it?" He nodded to Rog and Severin. "Right, boys, let's go back to our clients. I'm sure they've got another vintage they'll let us sample. Ayla, Link." He nodded to each of them and turned their back on their fire, leading his partners away. Rog protested loudly, while Severin remained quiet.

"But I wanted to—"

"I don't care what you want, Rog, just shut the fuck up and walk!" Mel's voice hissed.

"But—"

"Shut up!"

Only when their voices were lost in the general din of the other campsite did Link allow himself to sit back down, and then he looked at Ayla. Her hand had been resting on the handle of her scimitar before, now it was gritting it tightly as she stared wide-eyed into the fire, breathing unevenly.

Link cleared his throat, hoping to get her attention, but she did not appear to notice him. Only when he reached out to gently tap her shoulder did she react, and violently so. She jumped to her feet, slapping his hand away with one hand while drawing her blade with the other, pointing the tip at him. For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, her eyes were filled with the warring emotions of hate and fear, and Link had no doubts that, if he gave as much as a twitch of movement, she'd run him through. Her eyes cleared up soon after, however, and she dropped her blade, seemingly shocked at what she'd done.

"Link," she gasped. "I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't realise..."

He shook his head, holding his hands up in a placating manner, and then signed, **It's all right. You were far away.**

"Yeah...yeah, I was, wasn't I?" she said with a sigh. "I...didn't expect to run into _him_. Thought I recognised his voice, but...I'd hoped..." She sighed, reaching down to pick up her blade and replace it in its scabbard. "Still, unprofessional of me. Of us. We'll have to apologise if we run into them again."

The problem with having the enhanced hearing and sense of smell of a wolfos was that it revealed more about the people around Link than he necessarily wanted, at times. Like the fact that Ayla—brave, tough, terrifying Ayla, scourge of the seas—was afraid of Mel, a man who, by all appearances, wasn't anywhere _near_ her level in terms of physical strength or fighting abilities. What on earth could inspire such a reaction in the one of the toughest people Link knew?

**You okay?** he signed helplessly, also painfully aware that outright asking her what was wrong would never lead anywhere. She was notoriously tight-lipped about her past (except for the parts she'd deemed _too awesome to leave hidden_ , as she claimed), and previous attempts at prying out information had never resulted in anything good.

Kafei had learned that the hard way. Multiple times. It was like the man was suicidal.

"I'm fine," she said, too quickly and too shakily. "Don't worry."

And Link had no choice but to nod and accept that as the truth, even though every cell in his body screamed at him that it wasn't. No, he agreed. It wasn't. But trying to ask her directly would never yield any useful information. It would probably result in a beating, in fact.

No, Link thought. I'll have to out some other way.

The Atelier was a big place, he'd been told, manned by hundreds upon hundreds of hunters. Someone was bound to know what had happened between Mel and Ayla...and Link intended to find out. Even if he had to after Mel himself, he'd find out.

Because Ayla was pack. _Link's_ pack.

"I suppose you learned the lesson after Iteos, but it bears repeating," Ayla said after a long moment of silence, drawing his attention again. "People choose this life for a multitude of reasons, some of them noble, some of them not." Her voice was steady again now, her breathing and heart rate even...but her eyes were still a little too wide.

"Hunters do good work...but that doesn't necessarily mean they're good people...or even decent. I'm a perfect example of that. I know the stories I tell about my time as a pirate are all exciting adventures, but...you realise they're heavily edited, right? I leave out the...horrible things I did back then." She sighed.

"I have a lot of lives on my conscience—some I don't regret taking, but...well..." She stood up and walked over to her pack, aimlessly fiddling with it, more for the act of seeming busy than anything else. "It always comes back," she said. "You can run, but you can never hide. You always get yours, in the end. I certainly got mine."

Link wasn't sure what to say.

**You're a good person,** he managed to sign, feeling like an idiot for not being able to say anything better, but...it was damn hard to find something else. **You're a good person** _ **now**_ _,_ he added for good measure.

She snorted. "You're too sweet."

They ate their supper in silence, and Ayla wordlessly took first watch. Link found he couldn't sleep, but not because of the heat, humidity, the sounds of the drunken camp on the other side of the road, or the insects. No, this time he couldn't sleep because Ayla's words, expressions, and body language kept going around and around in his head, and he tried to recover from the shock of seeing her like that.

Sleep would only come to him when, after two hours of thinking, he promised himself that he would definitely get to the bottom of this, and find out what Mel had done to his friend...and make him _pay_ for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't fuck with Link's pack - he will _end_ you!


	6. Sharp-Dressed Man

The steam locomotive was hailed as the most revolutionary step in transportation since the taming of the horse. It was fast, it was reliable, it accommodated potentially hundreds of passengers at a time, and above all, it was comfortable.

In Sheik's opinion, only the first and third claims held true. His experience so far was that not a single one of the lines he'd taken had adhered to its posted schedule. He'd been forced to wait for hours at a time at the stations, long past the claimed departure times, and while he had no trouble entertaining himself to pass the time itself (Ascal's notes were, as ever, surprisingly amusing), but the long waits were screwing up his own painfully planned travel route and schedule. Granted, he had made accommodations for delays like these, but not in such an abundance. As it were, he was in a real danger of missing his own ceremony (whatever it was).

As for the fourth claim...well, it was heavily connected to the third one. There were people. A lot of them. Stowed into very tight quarters. Sheik had never been fond of crowds in the first place, and he quickly found his patience being ground into dust. Had they been _quiet_ , at least, he could have dealt with feeling like a sardine in a tin can, but the sheer noise so many passengers were able to generate (especially when some utter twat decided _now_ was a good moment pull out the old fiddle and start playing raunchy pub songs so badly out of tune Sheik had to fight the urge to hurl the instrument, along with the offender, out the nearest window) was simply unacceptable.

The less said about the amount of times he had to transfer from line to line, the better, but at the very least going further and further north resulted in fewer and fewer fellow passengers. Unfortunately, this also meant that the train cars themselves were less...luxurious. The seats went from padded chairs to wooden benches, the windows were noticeably thinner, and the small stoves located in the front and back of each car did little to keep the chill out. The cold, by virtue of his condition, did not bother him, luckily (unlike the other passengers, whose cheeks were red and teeth were chattering), but he was wishing he'd thought to bring a pillow or cushion to make the trip a little more comfortable.

All these things conspired to make the Sheikah who stepped off the second-to-last line, two weeks after he began his journey from Hyrule, less-than-happy. The station itself, an unassuming building constructed on top of a platform next to the tracks, wasn't particularly impressive, but it was certainly better than the surrounding excuse for a town—all hovels and shacks meant for temporary habitation rather than a permanent settlement. The skies were overcast; drab, grey clouds hung low over the flat plains stretching on in every direction. The only good thing about it was that he didn't have to deal with the noon sun, which was the worst sort of light his eyes had to deal with.

Ascal's notes had promised him that his eyes would soon grow tolerant of, if not used to, direct sunlight within a month or so of his initial transformation, but over half a year later and Sheik's eyes still stung and watered terribly if he did not wear his dark-lensed spectacles, which made it somewhat bearable. At first, Sheik had been inclined to believe Ascal had lied to him, but then he thought that it might have something to do with him being a Sheikah instead—there had never been a Sheikah vampire before him, apparently...or at least none that Ascal had heard of. Already gifted with phenomenal night vision, perhaps Sheik's eyes would always remain sensitive to the harsh glare of the sun?

_Just another thing to ask him before I tear his head off,_ Sheik thought, clenching his jaw with annoyance as he stepped off the train car and immediately headed inside the station building. The inside matched the outside—unremarkable and threadbare, looking very close to falling apart. A few benches for waiting passengers were tucked into a corner, while an entire side of the room was taken up by the ticket counters, of which there were two.

Sheik doubted there were even that many staff members employed here.

A young man—human, well-dressed—was sitting on one of the benches, a briefcase full of papers open on his lap. He was scanning a thick-looking volume (probably accounts), but he visibly perked up when he spotted Sheik trudging through the door, eyes alight with curiosity. He looked disappointed when Sheik ignored him and immediately headed for the ticket counter.

Sheik's mood, in turn, worsened considerably when he saw the ticket seller's eyes darken upon spotting him, a deep frown pulling an already unpleasant-looking face into the realm of ugly. He'd seen that expression more than once since he'd begun his journey, and it never led anywhere pleasant if he was forced to interact with the owners of such questionable countenances.

_Well, aren't I sesquipedalian_ _today?_ Sheik thought, realising he had reached the counter already, and was likely giving the person behind the counter an equally terrible look. _A good start to the bartering relationship, I'd say_...

"Yes?" the seller asked, his tone suggesting that even speaking to Sheik was like finding something disgusting under his shoe. "May I help you... _sir_?"

_Keep calm and carry on,_ Sheik thought, eyes flitting to the train on the opposite track. It was set to depart in half an hour, according to his schedule. He just needed a ticket, and then he could board and bury himself in a book. With luck, there would be no other passengers on the stretch for Felhearth, a mining town, and he could finally have something akin to peace and quiet. The passenger car certainly seemed empty. That was promising.

"Yes, I'd like to purchase a ticket to Felhearth, preferably on the next departure, please," he said, keeping his tone light, pleasant, and, above all, polite. "If there are private cabins, I would prefer one of those."

Usually the fact that whoever gave him ugly expressions like the seller's were able to squeeze money out of him was enough to lubricate any lingering racial or cultural dislikes enough to get a transaction out of the way quick and easy, but apparently not even Sheik's money sufficed in this case.

"I'm sorry," the man said, his voice and face conveying no such sentiment, "but I'm afraid there are no tickets available. The train is fully booked."

Sheik paused, and then looked directly at the train outside the window. "Is that so?" he asked drily. He gestured to the, quite frankly, _dead_ station interior, and the utter lack of activity on the platforms and loose collection of buildings outside. "As far as I can tell, it looks more like the complete opposite."

"Appearances can be deceiving," the seller said, a small hint of glee at being able to deny a Sheikah (who, if the fairy tales are to be believed, are barely one step above the scum that collects on top of still ponds in terms of financial or any other type of worth) passage. "Train's full—so very sorry."

Usually, Sheik was able to brush things like this off rather easily. After all, he'd gotten used to it after years and years of such treatment (the culminating experience being when he was stabbed and left for dead in the streets of Kaerwall, and no one was willing to help him save for Doctor Kaura), but at that moment he was tired, hungry, and rather cranky from an unpleasant journey. It was therefore a mental struggle _not_ to punch the smug bastard in the face, and instead force another smile to his face, and ask,

"I see...is there any other form of transportation northwards, then? A carriage service, perhaps?"

Honestly, he wasn't sure why he bothered. If anything, the question only gave the man further incentive to feel smug as he shook his head in an entirely unapologetic manner, clicking his tongue.

"Afraid not, _sir_ ," he said, pronouncing the last word like it tasted unpleasant, and all he wanted was to spit it out. "Looks like you will have to walk, unless you want to wait forty-eight hours for the next departure."

"Are there tickets available for _that_ departure?" Sheik asked sarcastically.

"Let me see," the man said, pretending to look at his schedule. "What do you know, that one is fully booked too. What rotten luck."

"It's almost like the rail line doesn't want my patronage," Sheik replied. "A rather unfortunate impression, don't you think?"

"I don't make the rules, sir," the man said, openly smiling now. "We'd be over capacity, a strict violation of the safety guidelines."

"Oh," said a new voice almost directly behind Sheik, which made him flinch. "I'm sure we can look through our fingers on this one departure."

Sheik glanced behind him, realising the newcomer was the young man from before, his briefcase (along with a bigger travel case, presumably containing spare sets of clothes and other necessities) left by the benches. Sheik hadn't even heard him approach them, so focused on not putting the ticket seller out of his misery.

Sheik's misery, that is.

"Afraid not, sir, guidelines strictly say—"the seller began.

"That you aren't to book over capacity in order to ensure the safe passage of the train, its passengers, and cargo," the young man recited. "I am very aware of the guidelines, sir, seeing as I wrote them...and not nearly as specifically as I wanted to, on account of having to accommodate intellectually challenged troglodytes." At this, he gave Sheik a wink, while the seller simply blinked in confusion...and then a look of realisation dawned upon him, at which point he gasped.

"You...you are—"

"That is correct," the young man interrupted, grinning. "And I believe it is in your best interest to look the other way in regards to the guidelines in this very specific case...or, rather, in fact, I believe _I_ will book the entire passenger car, and reserve one of the seats for my very dear friend..." he looked questioningly at Sheik.

"Juichi," he supplied as his name.

"...Juichi here," the young man finished.

"But, sir..." the seller said helplessly, his face growing redder and redder for every second. "The other passengers—"

"May apply for a refund for this gross abuse of power," the young man said. "In fact, they may apply for double the amount, and a free ticket to a station of their choice, given the suddenness of the situation."

Sheik had no idea who this man was, but whatever was happening was clearly upsetting the seller and, therefore, a very good thing indeed. He simply gave the seller an innocent look, trying not to feel too much glee at the other's predicament, if only to somewhat honour Impa's wishes and opinion about gloating (which was, predictably, " **Don't** ").

"I still don't think—" the seller tried, clearly on his last leg.

The young man sighed. "All right, I tried being nice about this, but apparently you like playing dangerously." Leaning on the counter, he beckoned the seller to do the same. His voice lowered to just above a whisper, loud enough for Sheik to hear. "Your attitude is abhorrent, and if you wish to keep your job I suggest you adjust said attitude accordingly in an extremely timely manner...that is to say, immediately. I will purchase _every_ passenger ticket on the next departure of the Northern Express, Juichi will be on it, and that is that. Understood?"

The seller looked ready to cry, if his moist eyes were any indication, and in the end he could only nod in deference to the younger man, voice trembling. "Y-Yes, sir." Reaching under the counter, he withdrew a handful of tickets, handing them to the other.

"Smart decision," the young man said. "You may forward the invoice to the office." Tucking all but one ticket into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he turned to Sheik and handed him the remaining one, smiling widely and friendly. "Your ticket, Mister Juichi, and I offer my humblest apologies for his behaviour."

Sheik took the ticket hesitantly, always sceptical whenever someone was overly friendly (which purchasing all the tickets for an entire train car definitely qualified as), and nodded. "Apology accepted, mister...?"

"Carlyle," the young man offered. "Thomas Carlyle."

Sheik blinked, and looked at the ticket in his hands, then at the man, and then back at the ticket, on which the name " **Carlyle Travel Co.** " was stamped in one corner. The same name was painted on the locomotive, as well, and several of the train cars.

"I...see..." he said, trailing off when he found his usually busy brain offering very little of intelligence in response to this.

Carlyle simply grinned and walked back towards his bench, closing his briefcase and hefting the other case over his shoulder. "Is that all your luggage, Mister Juichi?" he asked, gesturing to the threadbare pack on Sheik's back.

"Er, yes," Sheik said.

"Good, then why don't we board?"

_We?_ Sheik wondered, all the while nodding dumbly and following Carlyle out onto the platform, and then climbing into the passenger car, wondering how on earth this had all happened?

"I am terribly embarrassed," Carlyle offered as he took the liberty of sitting in the seat opposite Sheik's inside the car, which was more comfortable than many of the others so far, which was strange given the remoteness of the route. "I had thought I'd managed to stamp out such behaviour throughout my staff, but it seems old habits die hard out in remote places like this." He shook his head and gave Sheik another dazzling smile which, to his own surprise, Sheik did not find unpleasant. "I suppose you've already figured it out; I am the owner of the Carlyle Travel Company, which owns and operates most of the rail lines and steam locomotives in these parts."

"I figured as much," Sheik said, nodding. "And not just around here—I have seen your name as far south as Hyrule. Or the border, at least."

"Ah, are you from there?" Carlyle asked. "We are currently negotiating with your princess—or her representatives, at least—to expand our operations into her kingdom. With luck, we will be able to begin construction within the year, provided the weather holds."

Sheik nodded dumbly, still surprised (and suspicious) at his luck. "I'm sorry," he said after realising he'd been quiet for a good ten seconds. "I am very grateful for your help, I just...you seem very young to own such a large company..."

_For fuck's sake, am I_ blushing _?_ he thought, realising his cheeks were growing warm when Carlyle unleashed yet another smile at him.

The man, seemingly in his mid-twenties, was quite attractive for a human. Stubble covered a strong chin, his cheekbones high and narrow. His nose was slightly crooked, just enough to give it a distinguished look. His eyes were a light green, almost twinkling in the light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling. Full lips concealed a smile so white it almost seemed unreal. His hair was blonde, and cropped short save for the bit on top of his head, which was a little longer and pulled to the side.

Carlyle laughed. "Ah, you are right about that," he said. "I didn't build the company, I only inherited it when my father passed a year ago."

Sheik frowned. "My apologies, I did not mean—"

"No offence offered, and none taken," Carlyle said, shaking his head. "It was expected, and he'd been sick for a long time."

"Still, I did not mean to cause you trouble."

"It was no trouble at all, my friend," the man said, shaking his head again. "The man was lying; not a single ticket had been booked on this departure. He was simply being difficult for the sake of it. I had no intention to allow such discrimination to continue on my watch. Besides, I get to see a part of the world I've never been to, which is a bonus."

"I...beg your pardon?" Sheik asked.

"I was actually going east, with the train you arrived on," Carlyle said. "But when you said you were going to Felhearth...well, I felt a sudden urge to go there as well, and when my employee decided to be difficult...well, I had no choice, did I?"

Sheik still did not understand, but he nodded. "I see...I hope I am not keeping you from your business in the east, though." Compared to the fine suit Carlyle was wearing, he felt his own looked threadbare at best. It had looked okay at the start of his journey, but...

"It can wait," Carlyle said immediately, then he coughed. "Well, I _say_ business, but really it's more of a...vacation."

"Vacation?"

"Of a sorts—or perhaps a research trip?" Carlyle's brow furrowed as he tried to come up with a better term. "For the last six months, I've been travelling, seeing the lines and routes that the company offers. My father never bothered with seeing the places his trains travelled to; he only cared about the money they brought in. Me, I wanted to see the business for myself, from a passenger's perspective."

As he spoke, the conductor announced the train's departure, and the engine's whistle blew loudly as the wheels slowly began to turn, encasing the station in a steamy haze.

"Admirable, wanting to see it," Sheik mumbled, still unable to find his footing with this Carlyle character. "Rather than just...just..."

"Spending all the money?" Carlyle suggested with a cheeky grin. "Believe me, more than a few of my friends suggested I do that—and are actively doing with their own inheritances."

"But not you?" Sheik said, unable to keep the dryness out of his voice.

"Not me," Carlyle confirmed, his eyes finally looking away from Sheik and out the window, watching the miserable little town disappear in the distance. "Frankly, the idea of becoming anything like certain acquaintances of mine..."

"I know the feeling," Sheik said when Carlyle didn't finish his thought.

For a long moment they were both silent, lulled into a sort of companionable comfort by the sounds of the train moving around them. Sheik's seat had a modicum of padding, which was better than the previous train. He could easily imagine being able to sleep in this, if he were able to lie down.

"So," Carlyle said suddenly, "what brings you this far north, Mister Juichi?"

"Just Juichi is fine, Mister Carlyle," Sheik said.

"Then I must insist you call me Thomas, or Thom," Carlyle replied. "I get called Mister Carlyle enough by the board members to make me feel like an old man."

"Thomas, then," Sheik said, smiling a little.

"So, my question?" he continued. "There aren't a lot of Sheikah in Felhearth, as far as I know, if any, so you must only be stopping by. Are you heading further north?"

"Yes," Sheik said, nodding. "I am going to see some of the clans beyond the Obrine Mountains. I have family there."

"I see, I see," Carlyle said, nodding. "I don't mean to pry, but I'm surprised to see you travelling alone. I thought Sheikah usually moved in groups?"

"We usually move in parties of two or three, or larger if an entire clan is on the move," Sheik explained. "Travelling alone is dangerous, but sometimes it's necessary for the speed. A single person travels fastest."

"And you're on a tight schedule?"

"Something like that."

"I can see why you were ready to punch that simpering shit in the face, then."

Sheik snorted. "It was that obvious?"

"Not on your face, but your eyes had a certain...spark to them that spoke of an imminent thrashing," Carlyle grinned, though it suddenly seemed strained. "I have to say, your eyes are rather...unique."

"How so?"

"You're not the first Sheikah I've met," Carlyle said. "Done quite a bit of business with some of the eastern clans, in fact...but none of them had eyes like yours."

"Red?" Sheik suggested cheekily.

"I was referring more to the amber in them," Carlyle said.

Sheik blinked, wondering if he should have worn his smoked spectacles after all, even if there was no sun to bother his eyes. Were the flecks around his irises that obvious, even from a distance?

"The lantern makes them stand out a bit," Carlyle continued, as if sensing Sheik's internal question. "They catch the light in a rather dazzling way."

"They're not...a common feature," Sheik admitted. "Makes me something of a freak among my kind, really."

"Utter twaddle," Carlyle protested.

"Utterly true."

Carlyle frowned, cocking his head to the side, looking deeply into Sheik's eyes. "On the contrary—I think they're quite lovely."

Sheik felt his cheeks heating up again, and he cleared his throat, looking away. He was a vampire, and a hunter. He could kill this man in about a dozen different ways with his bare hands. He did _not blush_ from such a simple compliment.

"Thank you," he said simply, coughing and fiddling with his pack.

Carlyle must have sensed his discomfort, and he leaned back in his seat, opening his briefcase. "I need to look over some documents—I hope you do not find me a rude travelling companion for doing so."

"Not at all," Sheik said, nodding gratefully. "I have some work of my own to do." He pulled out his book of notes for emphasis. He was about to delve further into Ascal's ramblings when he realised something, and the shame began to fill him. "The ticket!" he exclaimed and reached into his pocket. "Let me pay for—"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Carlyle said. "Consider the ticket a gift—recompense for my employee's rudeness, and a hope that you will recommend my company to your friends and family."

"Are you sure?" Sheik asked. "I don't want to take advantage of your kindness any more than I already have..."

"Kindness?" Carlyle asked with a scoff. "I wouldn't call my nefarious plan to spread the word of the Carlyle Travel Company to every Sheikah clan in the north in the hopes to gain them as customers any sort of kindness." He winked at Sheik. "I am just a businessman, in the end."

"A dastardly one, at that," Sheik said, grinning.

"I try to be, at least."

_Well,_ Sheik thought as he started to read, _at least I can defend myself if he tries anything_ nefarious _with me. And as long as he doesn't pull out a fiddle..._

Maybe trains weren't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'm keeping an eye on you, Carlyle...**


	7. The Green Men

On account of being born into a world where most people will, at _best_ , give you a deadly glare and tell you to shove off, a Sheikah child is forced to learn many harsh lessons early, lest they make a mistake and find themselves at the wrong end of a lynching mob. This particular education begins as soon as they understand the concepts of _us_ and _them_ , at which point they are taught to treat outsiders with the same caution they would a beast classified as "Benign, but defensive". As in, keep a wary distance and be prepared to run.

Above all, one should not let down their guard around them. It went without saying that _sleeping_ around them was just about the biggest mistake a Sheikah could make—at least not without taking every precautionary measure they could think of, and even then to have a knife or pistol within reach (or, preferably, in their hand).

Impa, after losing all but one member of her immediate family in one fell swoop, had taken to drilling these rules into Sheik as soon as he'd recovered from the shock. Sheik, having already learned these rules years before, had not taken kindly to being treated like a child again. More than one row had been triggered by the older Sheikah's endless requests for him to recite the litany.

Now, however, Sheik felt like his aunt had been completely justified in making him memorise and recite the rules...at least since he'd just gone and broken every single one of them by falling asleep with the, admittedly kind, stranger named Thomas Carlyle an arm's reach away. Some would have taken the young man's earlier kindness for something genuine, and not worried about something happening while they were asleep, but Sheik's instincts were hardwired to, upon realising he'd fallen asleep next to a potential enemy, to spring into action and shove a dagger into the stranger's skull.

Luckily, the latter bit of that reaction he managed to wrangle into simply standing up and stepping into the centre aisle of the train, his eyes narrowed as he watched the slumbering human show no reaction whatsoever to his travelling companion's sudden and violent awakening.

Night had fallen some time ago, evidenced by the complete darkness outside the windows. Even with his enhanced night vision, Sheik could barely make out the dark shapes of tree trunks passing by outside, and the slopes of what were likely the same mountains from which the denizens of Felhearth made their living.

Sheik took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax. Thomas was deeply asleep—far more so than Sheik had expected anyone to be able to be on such a loud and shaky mode of transport.

_Then again, he owns the train line,_ he thought. _He must be used to this mode of travel—and rest._

Calmly taking his seat opposite Thomas again, Sheik picked up Ascal's journal from where it had fallen on the floor. He brushed it off and put it in his pack, taking the opportunity to ensure his sword and pistols were still there and not tampered with. There were no signs of sabotage—the blade was unmarred and the guns whole. Unloaded, of course, because who in the right state of mind would walk around with a pair of loaded guns jiggling about in their pack?

Honestly, the Sheikah that walked around visibly armed on their own was just asking for trouble with the local policemen and/or militia. It was better to appear harmless, if only not to give them due cause for suspicion.

Feeling foolish for breaking such an elementary rule, Sheik tried to loosen the tension in his body in his seat, watching the slumbering Carlyle. The man looked remarkably harmless and child-like in his sleep, his nose twitching in reaction to some sort of dream.

_Which one of us fell asleep first?_ Sheik wondered, embarrassed when he felt quite sure he was the first to succumb to oblivion. He hadn't been able to rest properly on his previous train rides, and before that he'd walked for two days and two nights without a single bit of rest. It was bound to happen, really, but he'd hoped to find somewhere a bit...sheltered before letting himself fall.

_I suppose this one isn't so bad,_ Sheik thought, wondering if he'd broken Impa's rules so thoroughly that he might as well try to wring a few more hours of sleep out of the night.

Just as he decided to try closing his eyes for a few minutes, however, Thomas' entire face gave a twitch, and his breath caught in his throat, like he was choking on something. He grimaced, shaking his head as his mouth opened, speaking silent words...and then his entire body gave a slight jump that threw his head back, and his eyes opened wide as he gasped like an oxygen-starved fish on land.

To his credit, he seemed used to whatever unpleasant dream had played before his mind's eye, and he calmed down immediately, blinking sleepily as he stared into the darkness of the carriage.

"J...Juichi?" he asked, his voice rough. "Are you there?"

"I'm here," Sheik said gently, hoping not to startle the human. "Are you all right?"

_Almost forgot I was using Juichi's name,_ he thought, offering a silent prayer to the deceased Sheikah. _I shan't disgrace it, cousin, I swear._

"Yes, yes, I...just had a bit of a nightmare, I think," Thomas said, clearing his throat. "Would you mind getting us a bit of light?"

Sheik quickly lit the oil lantern hanging from a hook above the window, turning the flame up until it illuminated their seats. Thomas squinted until his eyes grew used to the light, rubbing his neck in apparent discomfort.

"Remind me to ask our designers to put in some headrests for these seats, will you?" the human asked, groaning. "My neck's killing me."

"Noted," Sheik said. "Your dream...what was it about, if I may ask?"

Thomas frowned as he thought for a long moment, before shaking his. "Can't say—I never remember them. Why?"

Sheik shrugged. "General curiosity—plus, certain clans believe that dreams are brief glimpses into the future. It would have been interesting to see what yours is."

"Heh, I suppose," Thomas said. "Your clan believes that?"

Sheik snorted. "No, my clan prefers to believe in the things they can actually see and touch, and make our decisions based on _that_ , rather than something we are only half-aware of at the best of times."

Dream interpretation was the forte of the western clans, who had a more literal-minded approach when it came to the legends of the past. They still had _shamans_ , for fuck's sake. Impa had never been amused by their antics, especially when it came to the hunt. What good is seeing that the future has teeth when you can't fight them off?

"You're going to see them, then? Up north?" Thomas asked.

"That's the plan. I only hope I have time to see them all."

"Do you have a large family, then?"

"My fraternal uncles each married into three of the clans, so yes. More cousins than I can count with all my fingers and toes." Sheik kept a placid smile on his face as he spoke, feeling a little guilty for lying to Thomas' face about his family (or lack thereof), but he couldn't take the chance on his true identity being discovered, even by this human who likely had no idea about the horrors of the world he lived in. "You know, I can't even remember half their names most of the time. I really ought to make some sort of cheat sheet."

Thomas chuckled. "Hehe, probably a good idea." He sighed. "Must be nice, having a large family like that."

"When they're not driving me crazy, yes," Sheik said, frowning at Thomas' sudden downcast face. "And yours?"

"Remarkably small," Thomas said. "Just me at this point, really. At least the only one bearing the Carlyle name." He cleared his throat and fiddled with his pocket watch, which had needed to be wound up. "I've got a half-sister in the Ashlands, but..."

He trailed off, and Sheik felt uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to pry—"

"I pried first, it's only fair," Thomas said quickly with a crooked grin. "Eva wants nothing to do with me, the business, or the Carlyle name in general. I'm not sure why, but I suspect it has to do with how she came to be in the first place. Alcohol was involved, naturally, and my mother was not amused the day after. Father offered money to help care for the child, but she turned it down. I suppose she didn't leave her child with a favourable impression of the Carlyle's either. I've sent letters, but they're returned unopened."

"I'm sorry," Sheik said. "I cannot imagine the feeling of being rejected by one's own family."

"Oh, no need to apologise," Thomas said, smiling a little now. "No harm done, after all. And I'm not beaten yet. I will keep trying to reach out to her—show her that I am nothing like _him_. Besides, it's not like I'm completely alone, I've got my...my..." A look of horror came across his face. "Oh bugger!"

Sheik blinked. "What's wrong?"

"Oh no, no, no," Thomas said, looking like the personification of misery. "Cora's going to _kill me_!"

"Cora?"

"My bodyguard," Thomas moaned. "She's protected me since I was a boy—she's the closest thing I have to a mother and—oh gods, don't tell her I said _that_!"

Sheik couldn't contain his snort, which grew into a chuckle when Thomas levelled a deathly glare at him. "I'm sorry, but it's a little funny for you to be afraid of your own bodyguard, isn't it? And shouldn't she be here?"

"You wouldn't laugh if you knew her," Thomas said, burying his face in his hands. "I was supposed meet her in Brimmon in time for the meeting—I can't believe I _forgot_! The first time she let me ride the train by myself, and— _don't laugh_!"

The outraged tone only made Sheik laugh louder, his stomach nearly aching with the thought of a grown man so utterly terrified and cowed by his closest protector.

"How old _are_ you, anyway?" Sheik managed to ask between desperate gasps for breath.

"I'm twenty-two, thankyouverymuch," Thomas said primly, crossing his arms and pouting very much like a child.

That was younger than Sheik would have thought—Thomas certainly looked like he'd hit twenty-five, at least, but perhaps his line was one of those that simply began to look distinguished and venerable much earlier than others.

"And yourself?" Thomas asked.

_That's the question, isn't it?_ Sheik thought. _How much longer can I say I'm seventeen?_

"Nineteen," he replied, knowing his appearance likely fit that awkward stage between teenager and adult. Another gift from Ascal—he'd never be taken seriously as an adult, no matter how old he got.

"Not far between us, then," Thomas said, his earlier annoyance with Sheik forgotten rather quickly.

"I suppose not," Sheik replied. "What is—"

His question was cut off as the train shuddered, and then gave a jerk as the brakes were suddenly engaged, sparks flying outside the windows as metal ground against metal. Sheik was flung out of his seat, his face smacking into Thomas' chests. Automatically, the human's arms locked around Sheik, keeping him steady as the train slowly came to a halt with a loud, whining groan.

"Juichi, are you all right?" Thomas asked, letting Sheik out of his grip.

"Perfect," Sheik said, shaking his head. "You?"

The sudden brake had thrown him off, and the experience wasn't improving his impression of train travel. His sudden introduction to Thomas' surprisingly solid chest muscles wasn't helping either, but at least he'd managed to extract himself out of that unfortunate position already.

"I'm fine, thanks," the human said, standing up as well and rubbing his chest where Sheik's face had slammed into it. "Good thing we'd slowed down for the tunnel up ahead."

"What happened?"

"Not sure," the Carlyle said. "I'll go up and talk to the driver."

"May I come with you?" Sheik asked, rooting around in his pack, searching for...ah, there.

"Certainly."

Before they could move, however, the door behind them opened, and a dishevelled looking conductor came inside, looking panicked, his face pale in the light of the lantern he carried. "Mister Carlyle, sir, are you well?!" he asked, voice in near panic.

"I'm fine, and so is my friend," Thomas said easily. "And yourself? You look rather disturbed, man."

"Brake woke me, sir," the conductor said, trying to straighten his uniform in the presence of his employer. "I'll go see the driver and engineers—"

"We'll all go, it seems," Sheik said, throwing on his coat and buttoning it up. "Shall we?"

"Sir, with all due respect, perhaps it is best for you and your...associate to remain here until I have ascertained the nature of the situation," the conductor said, barely sparing Sheik a glance.

Sheik ignored him in favour of making sure his gun belt was securely strapped around his waist and well-hidden under his coat. He'd secreted his short sword and stuck it the belt behind his back. He wouldn't be able to draw it quickly, but that was what his pistols were for.

"Nonsense," Thomas said, his tone mild. "If there is anything dangerous going on, we'll have safety in numbers." He glared at the conductor, though it was unclear whether it was his comment about Sheik or being told to sit pretty that had annoyed him. "I'm sure my _friend_ agrees. Right, Juichi?"

_Well, that answers that, then,_ Sheik thought, nodding. "Was just about to say the same thing, Thomas," he replied, emphasising his name.

"Very well, please follow me," the conductor said, clearly annoyed at having to tolerate a blood-eye in his immediate presence, but unable to do much about it since his employer had clearly taken a shine to the savage.

There was an additional passenger carriage they had to pass through, identical to theirs. This one, however, was piled high with extra cargo crates, the engineers taking advantage of the lack of passengers to carry additional supplies.

"What's in these?" Sheik asked.

"Dynamite for the mines," the conductor said tersely. "Please do not touch company property."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sheik said, pointedly touching a fingertip to the lid of the nearest crate, drawing a chuckle from Thomas.

Beyond the passenger carriage was the coal car, and finally the locomotive itself. Steam was billowing all around it, pouring from a million different pipes and valves. Two of the engineers were at the controls, arguing as they fiddled with the knobs and buttons and valves, clearly trying to get the pressure back up while the fireman was stoking the boiler, shovelling coal like his life depended on it.

"What happened?!" the conductor demanded, raising his voice to be heard over the hissing of steam.

"Hit something," the fireman said, out of breath.

"Hit what?"

"Radic's checking it out," one of the engineers at the controls said. He turned to regard the conductor and the others. "Get those passengers back inside—they've no business up here."

"I happen to own this train, so I think I can go where I please," Thomas said.

The engineer's face didn't change, but he didn't argue either. "Hmph," he grunted, and went back to his work.

"Mister Carlyle," the other engineer said, tipping her cap in a somewhat respectful manner.

Sheik stepped around the fireman and towards the edge of the engine, peering at the front, where he could barely make out the shape of a person walking back and forth, occasionally bending down to inspect something.

He was about to step off when the first engineer, evidently the main one, barked, "Get off the train, and you're on your own, kid. We got a timetable to keep, and we're not waiting for you."

"Juichi, they're right," Thomas said. "I'm sure it's just a matter of moments before we're on our way, yes?"

"Something like that," the head engineer said, ducking back among the controls, occasionally making a comment to his colleague. "Shovel faster—we need more pressure!" he added to the fireman, who responded with a loud curse.

Sheik crossed his arms and leaned against the engine railing, keeping his eye on the man at the front, itching to join and see what it was they'd hit. There was a strange scent in the air—blood, and something mossy... Granted, both of those smells made sense—blood from whatever they'd presumably hit, and moss because...well, they _were_ in the middle of a heavily forested area, the train tracks cutting through a narrow valley completely covered in trees.

Still, something was _off_ about the scents, and he wanted to take a closer look for himself...

The man at the front, presumably Radic, gave a grunt and pulled a dark shape off the tracks and into the small ditch next to them, kicking it into the depression before walking back towards them.

"A deer," he announced, climbing into the engine, his gloves red with blood and viscera, though his blue uniform had luckily missed the worst stains. He noted the new arrivals. "They shouldn't be here," he said.

"Thomas Carlyle, pleasure to meet you," Thomas said smartly with a grin. "This is my friend Juichi."

"Never mind them," the head engineer said. "What'd you say?"

"A deer," Radic repeated. "We hit a deer. A ruminant mammal of the Cervidae family, native to this region—"

"Yes, yes, thank you, I know what a deer is, smart-arse," the head engineer said with the air of a put-upon father dealing with an annoying teenage son...which, given their respective ages, seemed appropriate. "Did you put it out of its misery?"

"It was already dead," Radic replied, grimacing at the state of his gloves. "Frankly, given the state of it, it looked like it'd been for a whi—"

A loud cry, audible even over the hissing steam, echoed through the woods, from somewhere to the engine's front. Radic's eyes widened, and he looked back the way he'd come.

"You idiot, it's still alive!" the female engineer said.

"What? No, it wasn't!" Radic cried.

"Not another fucking argument," the head engineer growled, looking to the fireman. "Go take care of it, and make sure it's _dead_ this time."

The fireman nodded, handing his shovel to Radic. "Keep shovelling," he grumbled to the younger man, retrieving a pickaxe from the tool chest and making for the ladder. His foot was on the first rung when something clicked in Sheik's head.

"Stop!" he exclaimed, drawing their attention. "Mister Radic—"

"Just Radic, please."

"Radic—you said the deer looked like it'd been dead for a while, is that correct?"

The fireman was not amused, and made to climb further down, but Sheik's hand on his arm stopped him. He glared, but Sheik paid him no mind.

"Er, yes, that's right," Radic said, paused in his coal-shovelling task.

"How long?"

"What?"

Sheik sighed. "For how long, in your estimate, would you say the deer had been dead?"

"I'm not a biologist," Radic said flatly, but he quickly caved under Sheik's unimpressed stare. "I...I don't know—several days? It was full of maggots..."

"And you're _sure_ it was dead?"

"Its head was half-off, I'm pretty damn sure."

Sheik nodded, cursing his luck as he turned to fireman. "Get back on the train."

"Huh?" the older man said, glaring.

"I said get back on the train," Sheik repeated. "Or you're going to die."

"Fuck off!"

"I don't care if you own the train," the head engineer growled. "I will not have my crew ordered about by a damn nomad!" He ignored Thomas' apologetic muttering and pointed at the fireman. "You! Put that thing out of its misery, and _you_ —"he pointed at Sheik"—shut up before I throw you off!"

The mossy scent was growing stronger, and Sheik knew there was little time. "Damn it, I'm trying to keep you all alive! If your man goes out there, you won't see him again!"

"And why is that?" Radic asked, looking nervous.

"There's...something out there," Sheik said, aware of how badly such a vague statement would be taken. This was the bit he hated more than most about being a hunter—the secrecy of it all. He understood its purpose, of course, and agreed with it, but it also made it nearly impossible to be taken seriously. "A creature...a dangerous one."

"Yeah, and it's called Mister Gibbs and His Pickaxe," the fireman said, chuckling before taking another step down on the ladder. "Maybe I'll show you—hngh!"

He froze mid-step, a patch of red blossoming on the front of his overalls. His eyes grew wide, and he barely had time to open his mouth and let out a scream as he was suddenly ripped away, disappearing among the dark trees faster than the eye could see. His scream was suddenly and violently cut off, a wet squelching sound immediately following.

"Gibbs!" the head engineer shouted, making to follow the fireman, but this time Sheik didn't take any chances. He drew a pistol, and aimed it at the man.

"He's already dead," he said firmly. "And the thing that killed him is _not_ something you're equipped or trained to handle. The unfortunate Mister Gibbs will entertain it for a while, but then it will come for the rest of us." He jerked his head towards the controls. "You need to get this train moving again, or we're all dead, understand?"

"My crew—"

"Can still be saved, but only by getting this thing moving," Sheik said slowly. "How long until we're mobile?"

The head engineer looked ready to throttle Sheik, but the pistol aimed at his throat was keeping him at bay. Radic and the other engineer looked helplessly at them, while Thomas was squirming uncomfortably next to Sheik, clearly not understanding what was happening. The conductor...

"Where's the conductor?" Sheik asked, realising he hadn't even noticed the man slipping away.

"He...jumped off the train and ran the other way," Thomas said weakly, pointing at the other ladder. "When...when Gibbs was..."

_Idiot,_ Sheik thought. "Well, maybe he'll be lucky, if there's only one of them."

"One of _what_?" the female engineer asked.

Sheik looked her squarely in the eye. "You don't want to know."

As if on cue, another cry echoed through the woods, this time on the other side of the tracks. Sheik cleared his throat.

"Well, it seems our conductor was not, in fact, lucky," he said, returning his attention to the head engineer. "Do you understand now?"

The large man looked ready to pummel Sheik into oblivion, but he finally nodded and looked to the control. "Ten minutes," he said. "Then we'll have enough steam to get moving."

"All right," Sheik said, lowering his pistol and holstering it. "I suggest you get started."

"I need as much coal as possible," the head engineer said. "Radic won't be enough."

"I'm sure Thomas will be happy to pitch in," Sheik said, heading back towards the passenger carriages.

"Juichi!" Thomas exclaimed. "Where are you going?"

"I need to get something from my pack," he answered over his shoulders.

"Why?"

"Just stay with the others, Thomas!" he replied, shutting the door behind him. He needed a longer blade for this, and another pistol wouldn't hurt. He paused as he passed by the cargo crates, and the distinctive marking on the side of the one he'd touched earlier. A quick plan formed in his head, and he nodded.

_Time to touch some company property,_ he thought.

When he returned to the engine two minutes later, wearing his more robust leather coat with the high collar, he was met by the sight of Thomas shovelling coal next to Radic, already covered in dust. The head engineer and his partner were talking to each loudly, occasionally demanding more coal.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" Sheik asked, making sure to conceal the sticks of dynamite he'd shoved into a pocket.

"Something screamed again," Radic said. "Didn't sound human."

"Because it isn't," Sheik said. "Which direction did it come from?"

Radic pointed at the side Gibbs had climbed off when he was taken. "Over there, I think."

"Right," Sheik said simply and swung himself onto the ladder.

"Juichi?" Thomas asked.

"I'm going to see if I can create a little distraction, buy us a little more time," he said. "You four focus on getting the train going. Oh, and here—"he threw one of his pistols onto the engine floor. "I'll be expecting that back when I return."

"Wait, that's dangerous! You said to stay on the train!"

"Exactly," he said cheerfully. " _You_ stay on the train!"

He didn't give them any more time to question him, and dropped down to the ground. Based on what he knew about these creatures, it was only a matter of minutes before they came back, more confident now that they'd probed the train's (non-existent) defences. He needed to draw them away until they could several tons of metal hurtling down the tracks again.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he quickly located the sad trail of blood that marked Mister Gibbs' rapid departure from this world, and slipped among the trees. A track of shredded clothes and viscera quickly led him to a small clearing, where the creature was feasting on what little remained of the fireman.

Green Man.

The species was named for the sort of imagery that was often associated with woodland heroes in the old tales—a man's face surrounded by green leaves and branches, peering out. Sheik wouldn't be surprised if the imagery itself was in turn inspired by the creature, which for all intents and purposes looked like a human, albeit taller and emaciated.

Its lower face was covered by a beard that, upon closer examination, would turn out to be very fine moss, which also covered the rest of its body save for its belly, where the skin looked closer to bark than anything else. Its eyes were black pits, a mere glimmer suggesting there was even anything there at all.

A rather nasty type of humanoid beast, green men were difficult to hunt due to their natural camouflage, which let them blend in with their surroundings almost perfectly. Intelligent enough to set traps, like they had with the train, they had become more than one unwary hunter's bane.

_Two, at the very least,_ Sheik thought. _A mated pair, likely. One male, one female._

He had the male right there, still eating happily, sitting cross-legged in front of the fireman's remains. Looking away from the viscera and the way it was peeling flesh off Gibbs' bones with its razor-sharp, fingernail-like claws, it was eerily human-like in its behaviour.

It hadn't noticed him yet. A weakness in its situational awareness, brought on by the ravenous hunger the species always experienced. Having probed the train's defences, it must have felt confident in being able to finish its meal before returning for more.

_Running out of time,_ Sheik thought, realising he had an opportunity he couldn't waste. Withdrawing a stick of dynamite and his tinderbox, he quickly lit the fuse (which he'd shortened with his knife) and threw the stick directly into the monster's lap.

Its eyes widened, and it only had time to look in Sheik's direction with a puzzled expression before the dynamite went off. Sheik barely managed to duck behind a thick tree for cover before the woods were momentarily lit up, and a deafening boom tore through the forest, knocking him off his feet.

When the ringing in his ears finally stopped, Sheik stood up and jogged into the clearing, surveying the small crater that was all that remained of the green man and his victim...or so he thought. A quiet gasp made him look beyond the crater...and the sight was nauseating.

Little more than a ribcage, a head, and an arm, the green man was still alive. Its entrails spilled out from the opening where its torso ended, and it was leaving more and more pieces of itself behind as it desperately tried to drag its ruined form away, into the protection of the trees.

"Sorry about this," Sheik said, drawing his blade. Every sound around him was oddly muted because of the loudness of the explosion. To a normal hunter, that would be something to worry about—tinnitus or permanently compromised hearing was normal for hunters who worked with explosives on a regular basis. To Sheik, however, it was something that'd heal just fine in a matter of hours, provided he got enough...enough...

He ignored the tantalising smell of the fireman's blood that tainted the air, trying to ignore the fact that he hadn't fed for at least a week. He walked over, and brought the curved blade of his sworn down on the green man's neck. Its bark-like skin was tough, and even with his enhanced strength Sheik needed a second strike to completely sever its head from its body. The upper body stopped twitching, ceasing its fruitless attempt to escape.

_No time to rest,_ Sheik thought, wiping the blade off in the grass and sheathing it. _Just a minute or so before—_

Another cry, this one a high-pitched shriek, tore through the air, coming from the direction of the train. Running back, Sheik kept a keen eye on his surroundings, hoping to the Goddesses that he was right about the green men being a pair rather than an entire family unit. That'd definitely pose a serious problem, even if he'd gotten lucky with the male.

He burst out of the trees and was climbing up ladder within moments, relieved to see that the four were still all right. "I got the male, but there is definitely a female here too," he said quickly. "Have you seen or heard anything?"

"Something crashed across the tracks half a minute ago," the female engineer said. "Just before you came back."

"My distraction worked, then," Sheik said, trying to sound confident. He turned on the ladder, making sure that he wasn't presenting his back to the remaining creature. "How long until we're moving?"

"Still a few minutes—a gasket blew and we had to replace it," Radic said.

"Shit!"

"Are you all right?" Thomas asked, now positively soaked through with sweat and coal dust. "There was an explosion...and you're covered in blood!"

"Not mine," Sheik said quickly. "I'm afraid Gibbs is gone, but I eliminated the creature that got him. Any sign of the conductor?"

"None," the human replied, eyes wide with fear or adrenaline—it was hard to tell which. Sheik noticed that his pistol was tucked into Carlyle's belt.

"You know how to use that thing?" Sheik asked.

"Cora taught me," Thomas replied.

"Good, good, glad to hear it," Sheik said, another shriek tearing the air, coming from the explosion site. Dropping back onto the ground, he drew another stick of dynamite. He highly doubted he'd be able to sneak up on this one like he had with the male. "Once you get the engine going, start moving immediately."

"And you?" the head engineer asked.

"I'll be back in time...hopefully," Sheik said, winking. "Just blow the whistle when you're starting it up, and I'll come running."

He was getting excited—that familiar mix of fear, anticipation, and adrenaline, coupled with the thick scent of blood that had begun covering the area after the deaths of Gibbs and the conductor, was starting to take over. Old instincts as a hunter, coupled with a few new ones from Ascal's gift, were assuming control.

"Wait!" Thomas stood at the top of the ladder. Sheik paused, waiting. "I...you..." the railway owner had several false starts before he finally shook his head. "Be careful, okay? Come back."

"I will."

A moment later, and he was among the trees again, making as much of a racket as he possibly could. Playing decoy was the name of the game now. His target had already discovered his presence, and was crashing through the undergrowth, gaining on him. The sheer size and vibrations it caused in its pursuit certainly confirmed Sheik's suspicion. That led to elation at being right...and also regret at being right, because that meant...

_Ooh, she's a big one,_ he thought just as a medium-sized pine nearly crashed down on him. He jumped out of the way, lit another dynamite stick and hurled it in the green man's direction, not even waiting to see if it had any effect as he dove behind a rock and covered his ears. He didn't even wait until the vibrations subsided before dashing out of his cover, pistol drawn and aimed at the detonation spot.

She was smarter than that, and Sheik only heard a branch snap under her weight before a long, skinny arm covered in razor claws cleaved through the air where his head had been a moment before. Rolling, Sheik found his balance on his knee and fired his pistol, hitting the female green man just below her eye.

_Kill shot!_ he thought triumphantly.

Or it would have been, had it been a smaller, weaker example of the species. This green man was no mere breeding female—her size was easily double that of the male, her skin looking positively ancient compared to his. And thick. Thick enough for the bullet to simply embed itself in what passed for a cheekbone, a thick globule of black blood oozing from around it.

Her face was frozen in a look of pure rage, one of her fingers poking at the bullet in her cheek. It was dislodged, revealing little more than a slightly bleeding divot in her face. She did not look amused, black eyes regarding him as nothing more than a pest to be squatted...and given that she was three times Sheik's height, he probably was. Her left hand was clutched around the conductor's neck, below which hung...about a third of his upper torso, the rest of him gone. The head was missing as well, making it look like she was brandishing his remains as a club.

A twitch, and Sheik was diving again, the conductor's remains slapping wetly against the rock, blood spraying in every direction and threatening to overwhelm Sheik's concentration.

_Not now, not now,_ he told himself, drawing his sword and ducking another razor-sharp swipe and answering with one of his own, cutting at the bark-like skin. It gouged her skin and made it bleed, but didn't seem to do any proper damage. He slashed again, hoping to see some sort of effect, but there was none to be had. All he got for his trouble was a closed fist to his side that threw him halfway across the creek.

Groaning, he quickly got back up, just in time to duck beneath a clumsy kick from those gangly limbs. That one would have caved his chest in, vampire or not, and Sheik would not have enjoyed that experience.

Before it could attack again, Sheik darted forward into her reach—too close for her to swipe at him. It screamed and tried to anyway, but it was too late, and Sheik drove his blade into her soft stomach.

...or, it was supposed to be soft, at least. He barely managed to register that instead of piercing, the tip of his blade simply glanced off her belly, catching on something that looked like a twig hole. It was so unexpected that he hesitated, and that left him open. Her fist first struck the flat of his blade, which snapped in half like it was nothing. Then one of those claws found his left arm, raking across it and splitting the leather like it was nothing. Her knee finished the attacks, knocking the air out of him and knocking him back into the creek, soaking him through with water.

Coughing, Sheik stood up, ankle-deep in the creek, watching as the female regarded him with nothing but hate, clearly trying to extend her revenge of her mate's killer as long as possible.

"Guess you're a bit...out of my league," Sheik said, panting. His sword was broken, one pistol was gone, the other soaked through, the powder charge useless. Her claws had made a ruin of the pocket that contained the dynamite sticks, and those were likely scattered all over the woods at this point. All he had left was a pair of daggers, and he knew for a fact they wouldn't do much good against her natural armour...especially not since it seemed to cover her weak spots. "How old are you, I wonder..." he muttered.

She screamed and charged at him, claws brandished and ready to finish him off.

_Two daggers and...well, I do have_ that _,_ he thought as he watched his incoming doom approach, twisting just out of the first attack's way...long enough for him to...

"Hah, got you!" he shouted as his hands locked around her wrists, twisting them so the claws were out of the way, unable to harm him, and digging his heels into the riverbed. The green man stopped in her tracks, surprise evident in her eyes as the tiny little thing she'd intended to kill stopped her in her tracks. Squeezing as hard as he could, Sheik felt bark armour and fragile bones of her wrists starting to give away as he applied every bit of vampiric strength he could muster. "Does it hurt yet?!" he shouted in her face.

Realising she was in trouble, the beast began thrashing and screaming, trying to bring her face close enough to bite Sheik's head off with her teeth, but he kept her at bay with his hold on her arms.

_Heh, getting desperate, aren't you?_ Sheik thought, feeling his enhanced muscles quickly tiring under the strain. _Now, if only I had a plan for what to do next..._

When something snapped loudly in her wrist, the creature shrieked again and bucked, throwing all her bodyweight to the side. Sheik had no choice but to let go, lest he be pulled after her. Instead, he let her fall because of her own momentum and followed through, quickly stepping within her reach once more and, with an act that was more instinct than anything else, swung his right fist as hard as he could. It collided with her jaw, and he could have sworn he saw a couple of teeth flying as her head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. He followed through with the tip of his boot, which collapsed _something_ in her throat and forced her breaths to come out in gasps rather than the enraged shrieks from before.

_Die, die, die!_

His left hand found a dagger, drew it from his belt, and the next he knew he was jamming it into an eye socket, popping the organ like a grotesque balloon, spilling blood and other fluids all over the front of his coat. Her hands were flailing about, clumsy and uncoordinated, barely batting at him with any strength. Withdrawing his blade, Sheik made to gouge out her other eye as well—

A sharp whistle cut through the night, and through the thumping in Sheik's ears—a long, drawn out signal. Just beneath it, he heard the clanking of gears and grinding of metal.

_Hm...big...moving...steam...the train!_

He blinked, suddenly realising where he was, and what he was doing. The hesitation cost him, rewarding him with another club-like impact to his abdomen. He threw himself back, using the momentum to roll backwards and onto his feet. He regarded the wounded creature for a moment, watching her clumsily standing up, before turning around and running for the tracks, hoping he wasn't too late.

His entire body ached, and his breaths were coming in sharp pants, barely able to draw in enough air to keep him going. His arm was still bleeding freely, and Goddesses knew what had happened to his equipment.

Behind him, he heard her follow. Her movements were erratic, more akin to stumbling than running, but she was keeping up with him all the same.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Later, he would wonder what it looked like for the engineers and Thomas when he burst out from the trees, bleeding and dripping wet, covered in gore, running like the wind...and then their reaction when a creature three times his size, also bleeding and pissed off beyond all belief, came after him.

It must have been hilarious.

As it were, he barely registered that idea as he ran as fast as he could at the engine, which was picking up speed at an impressive rate, and hurled himself at the ladder, not even sure if he was grabbing on or not, his boots scraping along the gravel as he held on for dear life.

"Here, give me your hand!" Radic was crouched down, trying to help Sheik up, but he wasn't strong enough. Behind him, the green man was almost within reach, screaming and roaring. Another few seconds, and she'd be able to grab him and pull him off the train. Sheik wasn't sure if he'd be able to overwhelm her again—she knew what he was capable of, now.

_I don't want to die here...not like this..._

"Hold on!"

Another pair of legs appeared over the rim of the engine, and all Sheik saw was a business suit covered in coal, a determined look on Thomas' face, one eye closed in concentration...and then a dull thump, his face lighting up from the detonation of gunpowder.

Sheik glanced back just in time to see the green man stumble, her hands clutching her face, and fall, crashing into the ground, writhing...and then she was gone in a billow of steam, her cries quickly fading into the distance.

"Here, get him up!"

"Give 'im."

Radic's hands disappeared, replaced by a much coarser and stronger pair that easily pulled Sheik up and onto the engine, leaning him against the railing. The head engineer's eyes met his, and a brief nod was exchanged, before he turned back to his crew.

"Keep shovelling, damn it, we've got to keep moving until we're out of this fucking valley!"

To his right, Thomas was crouching down and looking at him worriedly. "Juichi, can you hear me?" he asked. "Are you...stupid question, isn't it?"

"I'm...fine..." Sheik said, still catching his breath.

"You're bleeding, though."

"It'll...heal..."

"What _was_ that thing?" Thomas asked as he ignored Sheik's grumbles and started peeling the ruined coat sleeve away from his wounds. "Radic, do you have a first aid kit?"

"I'll get it," the female engineer said.

"Thank you, Rett."

"Don't need it," Sheik said. "It'll heal."

"Not if you bleed out in the meantime," Thomas said with an annoyed tone. "Oh, and this is yours, I believe." He placed the spent pistol at Sheik's side.

"That was a good shot," Sheik said, finally able to breathe again. Each inhalation was met with a sharp pain, which meant bruised or broken ribs. No pierced lungs, though, which was a blessing. A day or two and he'd be right as rain again. "Right in the eye, huh?"

Thomas flushed. "Cora always insisted I learn how to defend myself. I'm no use in melee, but at least I can shoot."

Sheik chuckled. "Aye, I can attest to that."

Half an hour or so later, after confirming they were out of danger, Sheik managed to stumble back to the passenger carriage, aided only a little by Thomas, who kept asking if he were all right. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged up, and there was little else to do about his ribs other than wait.

"Look, I'm fine," Sheik insisted. "Just help me lie down on the bench and let me sleep, and everything will be all right."

"Easy for you to say," Thomas said. "You didn't just see something out of your worst nightmares chasing you. You never said what that thing was, either."

Sheik cursed inwardly. He'd hoped that keeping busy with his wounds and talking with the engineers would keep Thomas from asking about the creatures, but...eh, that had been a vain hope, hadn't it? They'd all seen it, so he couldn't pretend it was some sort of normal, overgrown woodland animal either. A monstrous, bipedal moose was clearly not going to cut it, and it had looked nothing like a bear, cougar, or any other sort of predator in the area...

_Well, he did save my life, so I suppose I owe him this,_ he thought. _Ah, that reminds me...Link did the same, didn't he, when we first met?_

"It was a beast," he said, realising that Thomas was tugging the ruined remains of his coat off him, and then began to tug at the rest of his clothes. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"You're soaking wet and freezing," Thomas said. "If we don't get you out of these clothes, you'll get hypothermia and die."

That made Sheik want to point out that the cold was a pre-existing condition and that he highly doubted vampires were susceptible to hypothermia, but that would be revealing a little too much, in his opinion. He batted Thomas' hands away. "I can do it myself," he said. "Get me my pack—I have clothes there."

Thomas did so, and even did the proper thing and turned away when Sheik began unbuttoning his soaked shirt. That was...surprising. Men usually didn't have a problem seeing each other naked...or didn't make a big deal out of it, at any rate.

"So...a beast?" Thomas asked, his eyes trained on the window, where the forest was still passing by at a fast pace.

"Yes," Sheik said. "A green man, to be exact. Well, green men, really. They were a pair. The one I blew up was the male, the one chasing me...well, she wasn't happy about having her mate blown up."

"Green...man?" Thomas asked.

"Their skin is green, and they look like people," Sheik said simply. "Whoever named them was very literal."

"And they're...common?" the human continued. "Common enough for you to know about them, at least."

"Not common," Sheik said. "But not rare, either. They usually keep to themselves in the deep forests, but...I suppose the train tracks were built right in the middle of their territory. Must've provoked them by driving a train through every other day."

"They set a trap," Thomas said, remarkably calm about this. Usually, people reacted a bit more viscerally at being a monster was real.

"They did."

"Hm..." the human crossed his arms, still staring out the window as Sheik slipped on the last clean outfit he had. "I'll have to postpone any further travel along this line until we can confirm that it is safe."

"Or put extra security on it, ensure that the drivers stop for nothing," Sheik said. "They're not fast enough to keep up with a train going full-speed. You can turn around now."

"Mmm, maybe," Thomas said, doing so and giving Sheik a smile, though it was marred slightly by the tired drooping of his eyelids. "I'm glad you're okay," he said. "When you ran off that second time...and that thing came following you...I thought..."

"It's not the first time something like that's happened," Sheik said, waving his hand carelessly.

"You've hunted those...green men before, then?"

"They were a real menace in Hyrule for a while," Sheik lied.

"I've never heard of them..."

"One of those closely kept secrets for the greater good."

"No such thing as a greater good," Thomas said, suddenly frowning as he sat down next to Sheik, close enough for their arms to touch. "At least not one we should lie about. These things are dangerous, and everyone should be informed. Or walk around as well-armed as you."

"Maybe, but who's going to believe us?" Sheik said, breath hitching slightly when Thomas' arm snaked around his shoulder and drew him closer, careful not to upset his wounds. "What are you—"

"You're still cold," Thomas murmured, his eyes sliding shut, the side of his head resting gently against Sheik's. "Have to warm you up."

"I don't think that's possible," Sheik said, suddenly feeling tired himself. Made sense, really. He hadn't fed in a while, and just expended a lot of energy on fighting...and now his body was trying to heal, too, exhausting him further.

"Ice prince, huh?" Thomas said with a chuckle.

"Close enough," Sheik said, grinning.

There was a long moment of silence, and Sheik realised he needed to say something. "I'm...sorry about the dynamite," he said. "I'll reimburse the mining company."

"Eh, have to expect _some_ waste in that business."

They shared another laugh.

Thomas' breathing evened out soon after, the young man completely exhausted by the vigorous shovelling from earlier. Sheik tried to resist the allure of sleep himself, but had to give up eventually, his body demanding some rest so it could deal with his reckless misuse of it.

Just before he let his eyes close, Sheik made sure his remaining dagger was still within reach.

He was careless, but he wasn't _stupid_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Video games continue to be the bane of my writing...but Persona 5 is SO GOOD!


	8. Loose Lips

Kerran held his breath as he walked between the rows of beds, wrinkling his nose at the pungent odour in the air—a mix of blood, sweat, urine, and faeces, courtesy of the beds' occupants. Their whimpers and cries echoed through the basement, bouncing off the stone walls, floor, and ceiling, which he knew created an unholy cacophony when the waves of agony were at their worst. He remembered the pain, and did not envy them the process, but this was all necessary...and they had all volunteered, after all.

He paused at one of the beds, looking down at the man writhing in the sheets, fingers clutching and tearing at the bedding. He was soaked in sweat and other bodily fluids, eyes shut tightly and jaw clenched. His skin was covered in dark blue, almost black lines, his circulatory system mapped out and laid bare for all to see as his body desperately tried to fight off the infection...and failing.

Kerran glanced at the beds on either side of the man's, and saw no difference in the subjects there, either. A woman, tied to her bed to stop her from scratching her own eyes out; a man staring catatonically at the ceiling, eyes wide as the black veins slowly spread across his face and body.

Kerran frowned. This was not going according to plan. He'd begun immediately after taking over Martel's position, leaving the fortress in the Obrine mountains in his capable castellan's hands, trusting the man to run it in his stead while Kerran met with the rest of the lords and got the whelp's ceremony over with. He had plenty of time to waste until the others arrived, so he had begun his work immediately upon arrival at the holdfast.

He continued walking, pausing at a bed where the stench of death was hanging heavily in the air. The boy had expired recently, perhaps just a few hours ago, but the infection was already eating away at his dead flesh, putrefying it at an accelerated pace. He grimaced in distaste at the sight of the boy's exposed jawbone.

"Lord Kerran."

He looked up, spotting the researcher in charge of this operation, Doctor Cassim. The Hylian had just returned from supper, it seemed, and he bowed his head nervously in greeting. This one was still mortal, and had turned down Kerran's offer of the Gift. Why the man was willing to help with this process without becoming a Walker himself was beyond Kerran, but as long as he did as he was told and offered his medical expertise, the newly minted vampire lord did not care.

"What happened to this one?" Kerran asked, nodding towards the dead boy. "Why hasn't he been burned yet?"

"I wanted to see the effects of an untreated infection in dead flesh," the doctor, some sort of quack from Termina, said simply. He was nervous whenever he had to deal with Kerran in matters not related to his research, but the man was damn bold when his area of expertise was brought up. "As you can see, the body is broken down at an impressive pace, unlike anything I've ever seen before. It's rather fascinating."

"Good for you," Kerran muttered. "As much as I want to see dead bodies breaking down, this bed could be used for a viable subject instead. I would prefer if you use your own resources if you intend to pursue unapproved projects." He made a show of rubbing his jaw and opening his mouth just a little, displaying his fangs to the doctor. "So, kindly have this removed, and prepare another subject."

"As you wish, my lord," Cassim said, bowing his head again.

"I also want to hear your daily report," Kerran continued, crossing his arms. "Any progression?"

"None yet, my lord," Cassim said. "So far not a single subject has been able to fight off the infection long enough. They are either overwhelmed and killed by the infection, or die of the wound before it takes hold. It is a very delicate balance that must be achieved, as you know—"

"I am more than aware of what it takes to create a vampire," Kerran said, his tone a little snappish. "I do not need a _mortal_ telling me that. What I _do_ need you to tell me, doctor, is why not a single subject has survived thus far. Surely we should have hit that balance by _accident_ , if not by method, at this point?"

"I am still investigating that, my lord, but without different sources of the infection to draw from other than your esteemed self's, it is difficult to say what we are doing wrong."

Kerran's eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer to the doctor, who in turn took a step back, backing himself into the stone wall behind him. "Are you implying that there is something wrong with _me_ , doctor? That my blood is not _good enough_?" he asked in a deathly serious voice. "Consider your next words _very_ carefully, please," he added before the doctor could speak again.

"I am simply saying," Cassim said slowly, nervously adjusting his spectacles, "that your blood may have properties that are _different_ to that of your forebears, making the process for spreading the dis—er, _Gift_ , to others require other factors. There is so little known about your unique...condition, after all. I have no references to draw on—it is very much a learn-as-you-go sort of project. Having the blood of other walkers to compare yours to will make it easier, I believe, to discern the necessary procedure."

It was a very roundabout way of saying that, yes, there was probably something wrong with Kerran or his blood that made turning others into walkers impossible...but it was such a good effort that he avoided the urge to snap the man's neck, choosing instead to nod magnanimously. "I see...well, when the others arrive I will be sure to ask them to contribute to the project. It is, after all, in their interest to see it completed if we are to survive."

"That would be much appreciated, my lord," the doctor said. "And I will, of course, alert you as soon as there is progress."

"Good." He turned to leave, but a slight clearing of the doctor's throat stopped him. "Yes?" he drawled.

"I appear to be running out of test subjects," the doctor said carefully. "I would like to request more...er...that you..."

"...gather more cattle for you?" Kerran finished with a smirk. "Consider it done, doctor. You shall not lack for guinea pigs."

"Thank you, my lord."

"There is a town assembly tomorrow evening," Kerran said as he walked out of the room, more for the doctor's sake than his own. "I am sure my men can find some brave souls willing to offer their bodies for science." He paused. "That is what you are doing this for, yes? Science?"

"Of course, my lord," the doctor said.

"Good," Kerran said. "I'd hate to be forced to kill you because you suddenly decided to have...aspirations. Or grew a conscience."

"Do I truly strike you as a person with a conscience, my lord?" the doctor asked, a crooked grin spreading on his face.

Kerran studied him closely for a long, quiet moment, mentally reviewing everything his informants had managed to uncover about the doctor. It wasn't pretty. "No," he finally said. "Not in the slightest."

"That's one potential problem solved, then." There was a coldness to the doctor's smile, the sort that would send anyone else running in the other direction. Kerran was glad he'd never have cause to come to this man for medical attention.

"Keep me posted, doctor. Good night," he said and left the basement, ensuring the door was locked behind him by the guard. Another guard was waiting for him in the courtyard, saluting when he emerged into the cool night air. "What is it?" he asked.

"Sir, a carriage was spotted coming through the pass," the man reported. "It flies Lord Yama's banner."

"Ah, our first guest arrives," Kerran said, smiling. "Make sure to prepare the master chambers for Lord Yama and his apprentice. Send them to the library if they are not too weary from their travel. I must inform them of Lord Martel's unfortunate circumstances as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir!"

The man scampered off, already ordering the servants and other guards about, while Kerran made his way up the central stairs and into the holdfast, walking through the once-magnificent stone corridors carved into the mountain itself, heading for the shabby chamber that had once housed an impressive library, now reduced to a paltry collection of tomes that had survived the ages. It was just about the only room in the entire holdfast with any sort of noise isolation (save for the basement where he housed his subjects), making it good for holding meetings—especially private ones.

It would be good to see Brother Corin again. They could continue their chess game...and when the whole Cabal was finally gathered, they could, at last, lure the traitor out.

He had gone free for far too long.

* * *

"Feast your eyes upon this, the last bastion of civilisation in the north-east. Step beyond this glimmering pearl of a town, and you are at the mercy of bandits, monsters, savages, and grumples and snarks!"

Jhaan spread her arms wide, gesturing to the mining town of Felhearth, squatting just down the hill, a ramshackle collection of buildings by a discoloured river.

"An undiscovered paradise for individuals from all walks of life! A place where you can work and toil and...well, that's pretty much it, really, and the money you earn and spend in town goes right back to Feror since he also happens to own the damn mountain and all the businesses around here!"

Magnus was regarding her with an impassive, unimpressed look, arms crossed in a bored posture as he waited for her to finish. He was wearing what passed for civilian clothing where he came from, though no amount of billowing sleeves could hide the sheer bulk of him. Being more than a head taller than most people came in handy quite often, but it sadly made him useless at blending in. At least he'd ditched the axe, carrying a more sensible knife in his belt. Honestly, given his strength and size, Magnus _was_ more or less a walking weapon.

"No one cares who or what you are," she continued, "as long as you can lift a pickaxe you're good to go! So why don't you come work for the Feror Mining Company, and take your place in civilised society!"

Reyne was standing next to her, regarding the town and the perpetually smoking vents in the mountain it was built next to with a sceptical expression on his face. He, too, had dressed in a way to make himself less likely to stand out, but unlike Magnus he'd somewhat succeeded. If Jhaan didn't know any better, she'd assume the young Hylian was just a peasant.

Jhaan lowered her arms, glaring down at the town. "That's more or less what the men who came to the clan said...paraphrased a little." She adjusted the sleeve of her jacket and pulled her hat further down, knowing it'd do little to hide her heritage. "Thank the gods no one was stupid enough to fall for it."

"It looks like a shithole," Reyne said, grimacing.

"It's a mining town," Magnus said, like it explained everything. "They're all shitholes."

The sun had barely risen over the trees, the mist soon to be banished by the rising temperature. They'd arrived at the town during the night, but had decided not to enter before dawn, just to avoid arousing unnecessary attention.

"Right, you know what to look for," Jhaan said, looking at them with a grave expression. "This is just reconnaissance—we're not aiming to start something."

"Shouldn't we be telling _you_ that?" Reyne said with a grin.

"Shut it," she growled. "Like I said, we're here to look for our target. If he isn't here, we move on." As she spoke, she noticed a plume of smoke...no, steam? Of _something_ rising over the trees at the southern end of Felhearth, and a high-pitched whistle sounded across the pass. "Who knows, our target might even be on that train. Keep your eyes peeled, yeah? Everyone clear? Then let's move out."

"Just don't pick fights with anyone," Magnus said, touching the back of her neck gently before trudging down the hill.

Jhaan watched his retreating back for a moment before turning to Reyne. "I'm not _that_ aggressive, am I?" she asked. " _Am I_?"

Reyne's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth...and then followed Magnus, leaving the question hanging in the air, and an annoyed Sheikah in his wake. Jhaan glared at him, vaguely considering hurling a pebble at him...but that'd just reinforce his nonverbal point, wouldn't it?

She waited a few moments, letting the other two enter Felhearth separately and at different times, making sure they weren't associated with each other. As she waited, she watched the train pulling into the station, laden with mining equipment. Given that this was the last stop, and the tracks ended a mile or so further north, she wondered how they managed to turn it around.

It whistled again, and she decided she'd waited long enough, quickly descending the hill and entering Felhearth proper.

* * *

Noisy, bustling, crowded, with a faint scent of vomit and urine he suspected was persistent. The Iron Horse, Felhearth's biggest watering hole, was everything Thomas had ever been told about places like this. There was gambling, loud music played on ill-maintained, out-of-tune instruments, men and women cavorting in the rooms upstairs. Cora had always spoken about them like they were literal hellholes, where visits were likely to end with a knife in your ribs.

Thomas loved it—it was just the sort of thing he needed after a night like the one he'd just lived through.

Hah, lived through. As if he'd done anything other than shovel coal and land a lucky shot on some...some _thing_ that had decided to eat the engineering crew.

Mountain lions, of all things, had been the official cause of death for Mister Gibbs and the conductor, whose name Thomas had never caught. He felt guilty about that, given that the man was an employee of his, but...at least his family would be well-compensated. The engineers, including Radic, had not been willing to discuss the night's events when they woke in the early morning hours, and had suggested vehemently that no mention of the monsters be made when they arrived in Felhearth. Understandable, maybe, but Thomas couldn't get the image of that monster out of his mind, and perhaps talking about it some more would have helped, but Juichi had evidently been in a hurry, given the speed at which he'd disembarked and disappeared among the crowds.

...well, in a hurry to get away from Thomas at, at any rate.

He suppressed a groan and downed his drink and rapped his knuckle on the counter, signalling the barkeep for another. There wasn't enough alcohol to help him get over that humiliation, but he was damn well going to try.

"Your face is new," the barkeep said as he poured Thomas another shot of some foul-smelling concoction that burned like fire going down. Home-made swill, likely, but it was certainly effective—two shots in and he was already feeling light-headed. Then again, that might also have been the lack of food. "What's your story?"

It had been a long time since a stranger spoke to him so casually—his suits (which were shamefully expensive) usually kept most people at bay. The one he was wearing now, however, was covered in filth and coal dust, and he couldn't imagine his face was looking any better despite a quick wash after waking up.

"Oh, I'm...no one, really," he said. "Just here to work."

Based on experience, the Carlyle name usually invoked one of two reactions: unimaginable arse-licking, or scathing insults. The damage his grandfather had done to the name was certainly lingering, even after so long. When he looked like this, he was just another face in the crowd. It was refreshing, really, and he didn't really fancy any extra attention...at least not until after he'd managed to procure another outfit and proper accommodation. He'd have to send word to the company, as well, informing them that this particular line was closed until further notice, and then there was Cora, and...

This time he did groan, wondering what sort of punishment he'd be in for at her hands. It was one thing to miss an important meeting because he'd wanted to, as she called it, traipse around, but to end up in a situation like the one he'd been in last night...it was a good thing Juichi had been there.

Juichi...

He drank again, his mind unwillingly playing through their parting once more. He wished it wouldn't.

_"Why don't you stay, at least for a day? Rest up a bit?"_

_"I can't." Red eyes regarded him from behind smoked lenses. "I'm already late as it is. They'll start to worry if I don't show up within the week."_

_"You're hurt!"_

_"I heal faster than most." A grin. "Thank you, though, for worrying. Makes it feel like what I did yesterday wasn't for nothing."_

_"You saved my life—all of our lives."_

_"From mountain lions, yes." That he was agreeing with and insisting on the false explanation was most frustrating of all, like he hadn't risked his life against some sort of monster. "Vicious creatures, dangerous. Make sure to bring armed escorts in your carriage on your way home."_

_"This is ridiculous."_

_"Life often is."_

_There were no words to describe how he was feeling—he didn't want the younger man to leave. Wanted to keep him close, safe. Wanted to repay him for what he'd done. Wanted to...wanted to..._

_A hand on his chest, pushing him softly but firmly away. "I'm sorry." A genuine apology. "I'm already spoken for, I'm afraid."_

_"Ah..."_

_Burning cheeks, a plunging stomach, and an urge to look away—to leave and never come back to this point._

_"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"_

_"It's all right, you didn't know." A hand in his, squeezing. "Thank you for the help—getting me on the train, and then saving me. It really was a fine shot—your teacher would be proud."_

_"She'll flay me for getting lost like this."_

_"Just tell her you saved lives last night—that should be enough." Another smile. "I really should be going—my cousins are rowdy enough as it is without my late arrival adding to the mix. Stay safe, Thomas."_

_"Y-You too, Juichi."_

The kiss—or attempt at one—had been a mistake. He wasn't entirely sure why his idiot mind had decided that was the appropriate action to take, or why he thought Juichi would be all right with it. Perhaps he could have justified it as an attempt to show his appreciation, but in his experience back home men generally did not kiss men without feeling a romantic or sexual attraction and...and...why on earth was he thinking about this?

He downed his drink once more and asked for another. "Leave the bottle," he requested this time, putting down what he assumed was the appropriate amount on the hard, slightly sticky wood. The barkeep whisked it away, leaving the bottle in his wake. He wouldn't be able to procure transportation out of Felhearth for another two days, according to the coach service, so he might as well spend them drinking until he couldn't remember the utter embarrassment he'd made of himself to Juichi. Hell, maybe he'd manage to forget the monstrous face of the...green man, was it, that had followed the train.

"I am such an idiot," he muttered to himself.

"I agree," a voice suddenly said at his side, making him start. "At least if you're drinking _that_."

A woman had taken the seat next to his, leaning on the counter and looking positively bored. The sides of her head were shaved short, while the long, blonde (almost white) locks on top were slicked back, hanging just above her shoulders. Her face was rather plain-looking, her nose slightly upturned and a little crooked, looking like it had been broken at least once. The most eye-drawing feature, however, was the small tattoo shaped like a tear just underneath her left eye, just like...like...

Her crimson eyes met his, offering a crooked grin. "What, see something you like?"

"Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to stare," Thomas said, returning his gaze to his glass. What were the chances of running into two Sheikah in such a short amount of time? They usually kept to themselves, and stayed far away from places like Felhearth.

"I don't mind," the woman said, still grinning in the corner of his vision. "It's better than being glared at...though I'd stop drinking that, if I were you."

"Why?"

"It'll make you go blind, for one."

Thomas stared long and hard at the bottle. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Why would they sell something so dangerous?"

"Cheap to make?" she suggested with a shrug. "I'll buy you something better, if you'll help a girl catch the barkeep's attention. I've been trying to for the last twenty minutes, but he keeps ignoring me." She bared her teeth in the barkeep's direction, and Thomas noticed that she was indeed being ignored. That made anger flare up in his stomach, remembering how Juichi had been treated (by his own staff, no less!), and raise his hand.

"Excuse me?" he said, perhaps a bit louder than necessary, "but my friend would like to order."

The barkeep rolled his eyes and took his sweet time wandering over. "And what'll it be...miss?" he ventured, as if she was something entirely alien to deal with it.

"A bottle of _actual_ whiskey, please, and none of _that_ swill," she said, pointing with disdain at the bottle Thomas had been drinking from. "I'm surprised no one's died from it yet."

"Payment up front," the barkeep said, smoothly ignoring her jab.

"How much?"

"Ten."

"Oooh, fancy stuff," she said with a grimace, but handing the money over anyway, knocking Thomas' hand away when he tried to reach for his own pocket. "Ah-ah, I said I'd buy you a drink, didn't I?"

This one was far more outgoing than Juichi, he thought. The younger man had been quiet and withdrawn, and very hesitant to accept help. This one was...well, she took up a lot more space.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself," she said after receiving a glass of her own. It _hadn't_ been cleaned, Thomas noticed. She must have, too, but did not make a fuss. Instead she waited until the barkeep's back was turned, leaned over the bar, and quickly grabbed a fresh one. "Name's Jhaan. What's yours?"

"Tom," Thomas said, managing quite handily to embarrass himself at his lack of imagination. He didn't want anyone to know who he was, given the lengths some people would go to in order to make a pretty penny. Kidnapping nobles was practically a pastime in some regions. "A pleasure."

"I'm sure," she said, winking. Her eyes remained locked with his for a few seconds longer than necessary, her shoulders relaxing after a moment. "So what brings you here, Tom? You don't look like a miner." She glanced pointedly at his ruined suit.

"I'm an accountant," he lied. "Here to oversee some numbers for the travel company. Their accounts are a little bit off according to ours, and...well, I wasn't prepared for the sort of rigours a town like this demanded."

"Suit's not very practical for a place like this, I agree," she said, again eyeing his suit.

Her own outfit was apparently nothing _but_ practical. Numerous pockets and loops dominated both her trousers and jacket, and her boots were clearly made for hard travel. He noticed a bulge beneath her shirt that looked suspiciously like a knife, but he made no mention of it. Juichi had carried more than one weapon with him, after all. Maybe it was a Sheikah thing—protection on the road, or whatever.

"And you, Jhaan?" he asked. "What brings you to Felhearth? Going north to see family?"

She paused. "I am, actually. How'd you guess?"

Shit, why had he said that? Was the booze really getting to him already? He cleared his throat, realising he'd be caught in a lie immediately if he hesitated now.

"Well, I shared a train ride with another Sheikah on the way here," he said.

What was the harm, really?

"That so?" Jhaan asked, leaning a little closer while taking a sip. "What was their name? Maybe I know 'em."

"Juichi," Thomas said. "From Hyrule, I think?" He busied himself with pouring another drink for himself, failing to notice how stiff Jhaan had gone in her seat.

"Sounds...familiar," she said haltingly. "About twenty-five, fond of tinkering? Looks permanently nervous? Terminan accent?"

Thomas blinked. "Er, no?" he said. "He's nineteen, though he looked younger, and didn't seem like much of a tinkerer—and definitely not nervous. Just quiet, really." He gave her a quick description of his appearance, and she kept her rapt attention on him the entire time.

A fearsome warrior, too, but he kept that to himself.

"Huh...must've been someone else, then," she said, tapping her finger agitatedly on the counter. "Did he mention which clan he was going to see, by any chance?"

"No," Thomas replied, suddenly not uncomfortable with being questioned by this woman. Her eyes had a certain gleam he wasn't entirely sure what meant. "There were three uncles, apparently...married into different clans."

"Huh," she said, nodding. "Definitely not someone I know..." her eyes widened a little. "Wait, you said Hyrule, yeah?"

"I did?" Thomas asked in return.

"I'm pretty sure you did."

"Perhaps?"

She stood up abruptly, shoving her glass closer to him. "Well, this has been nice, Tom. Please, keep the bottle." She turned to leave.

"Wait, where are you—?"

"I just realised I have some business to attend to; buying supplies and the like—good luck with those numbers!"

And then she was gone, leaving Thomas with the feeling that he had just made a huge mistake...and had no way of warning Juichi.

"She'll never catch up," he told himself, realising it had been almost six hours since he'd parted with the young Sheikah. "Too much of a head-start." He nodded, but did not feel confident about it. He turned back to his bottle, hoping to the fates that he hadn't just accidentally sold out his friend.

* * *

Jhaan was stamping her feet impatiently as she waited for her partners to return to their meet-up site by the train station. They'd agreed on meeting one hour after noon, but more than ten minutes had already passed, and she was still waiting alone. It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been for the ugly faces she caught from passers-by. Like they had any right to _judge_ her simply for standing there.

Reyne and Magnus had evidently met up on the way, and she spotted the giant man's head first, swaying above the rest of the people in the muddy streets.

"You're late," she told them. "But it doesn't matter—I've found a lead on a new target."

"You have?" Reyne asked. "How? Who?"

"He's not in Felhearth," she said, immediately grabbing their arms and dragging them towards the hill on the edge of town, where they'd hidden their weapons. "But he was just here. Arrived on the train, and I'm betting it was today."

"How do you know?" Magnus asked.

"Just a hunch—the man I spoke to certainly stuck out like a sore thumb, and his accent was a dead giveaway that he was new to the area. Said he had a Sheikah travel companion."

"A Sheikah? But we're looking for a leech. What's so weird about a Sheikah on a train?" Reyne asked.

"For one, Sheikah rarely travel alone," she said, breaking into a jog. They were wasting time. "And two, he's apparently from Hyrule."

"Again, I fail to see what makes that so weird—perhaps he's just a loner and in a hurry? And it's not illegal to be from Hyrule, last time I checked." He poked at his pointed ears, as if to emphasise that she was speaking to a Hylian.

"There is currently only one Sheikah stationed permanently in Hyrule," she said with annoyance, "and that's Master Kafei!"

"Maybe he recruited someone?" Magnus suggested.

"I doubt it—we would have heard of it, and then there's the fact that this mystery Sheikah is apparently around nineteen years old, has a familiar description, and is using a dead man's name. The story does not match up in any way, and I want to see who he is."

Magnus' lips tightened. "Whose name is he using?"

"Whoever it is, he knew Juichi," she said, remembering the quiet, unassuming hunter in charge of the Clock Town workshop. "And I want to meet him. Give him a good wallop for travelling on his own and putting himself at risk, if necessary."

"But...the vamp!" Reyne said.

"We were set up to fail this task anyway—the region is too big for the three of us to hunt down a single, unknown individual. Just another embarrassment for the Freaks," she said as they reached the cache and began retrieving their equipment. "For now, we have a new target and mission." She paused and looked at her partners. "Unless...you have lost faith in my leadership?"

She didn't doubt them, but she was still relieved when both Magnus and Reyne nodded and followed her lead. "Do we even know where he is headed?" Magnus wondered, putting his two-handed axe on his back.

"North, apparently," Jhaan said. "To see _family_."

"Well, that's not vague at all," Reyne muttered.

"Only one road out of this town, though," she said. "And he doesn't know we're following him. We'll catch up in no time."

As they took to the road at a light jog, she heard Reyne groaning at the back. "And here I was hoping for a proper bed tonight!"

"Sorry," she said with a grin. "We'll have to break one later!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Thomas...you done fucked up!


	9. Clothes Make the Hunter

Crowded, busy, smelly, hot, stifling; Ravana was all these things, but above all, it was noisy. Link's ears were already hurting after about half an hour of sightseeing in the city's markets, with Ayla leading the way confidently through row after row of stalls and shops, cutting into alleyways like she'd memorised them. He tried to keep up with the directions, tried to make a mental map of the area, but the sheer amount of visual, olfactory, and auditory input was making it difficult.

Dozens of languages, whose owners all tried to outcompete each other in volume, were shouted from all corners, coupled with the calls of animals, carts, and the distant sound of the ocean lapping at the docks; the warm, moist wind creating tall waves.

Children were everywhere, especially underfoot, laughing and screaming as they treated the heavily-trafficked streets like a playground, causing trouble for the merchants, and likely filching more than a few small trinkets. Link felt a bit nervous, afraid he'd accidentally knock down the kids, who barely came up to his hips.

So many people, all with their own lives and schedules, working and living in a city so large and complex it made Castle Town look like a tiny village. The architecture was so different—the buildings were tall, just like home, but the stone had been covered in limestone and other bright, white materials.

"To repel the heat," Ayla explained. "Keeps the interiors cooler than just regular stone."

After another ten minutes of Ayla leading them in seemingly getting lost in a very guided manner, she made an exclamation of triumph and pointed towards a shop that looked more like a hole in the wall than a place of business, hidden away in an alley two streets away from the main thoroughfare, the only thing giving it away as such being the rolls of fabric stacked in the window, along with a small sign by the door (well, bead curtain, really), written in a language Link couldn't read—the letters were all curved and loopy.

"Told you I knew where it was," she said with a grin, parting the beads and waving him inside with a flourish. "After you, milord."

 **Saying that only makes it more obvious you were lost,** Link signed, giving her a crooked grin.

"Oh, shush you," the Gerudo said, waving her hand in his face. "I just needed to jog my memory."

**That why we walked in a circle at least twice?**

"I said shush!"

Link considered asking her how he can be quiet when he never makes noise speaking to begin with, but decided not to. It was an argument they'd had more than once. He settled for taking a look around the small, cramped shop that was supposedly the workspace of the finest tailor in the city.

Most of the space itself was taken up by, just like the brief view through the window had hinted, the fabrics and other materials used to make clothing. As far as he could tell, the sewing itself wasn't done here—possibly in another room, behind another beaded curtain by the counter at the very end of the room.

The air smelled of leather, wool, and cotton—but unlike so many other tailors' shops Link had been to, there was not a hint of rot, decay, or just that smell that he could only describe as "old". The floor was covered in a threadbare carpet, as were the available space on the walls beside a large mirror, presumably to dampen sound bouncing of the stone.

The heat was nearly unbearable, even in here, but that was to be expected. The clothes on their backs were hardly suitable for this sort of environment, which was the entire reason for finding this place. Link had a strong suspicion he smelled particularly ripe, but then so did Ayla...and he could only hope that the tailor wouldn't be offended.

Speaking of...

 **Where's the shop keep?** he signed, a faint pang of worry striking him when Ayla only grinned widely and headed for the counter, where a large bell rested on the worn wood.

"Knowing him, busy in the backroom," she said, unceremoniously slamming her hand down on the bell, which gave off a toll that was completely off-key, and made shivers run down Link's back, the Beast recoiling at the awfulness of the sound. "Ab!" she called at the doorway near the counter. "Where the fuck are you?!"

Under the terrible toll and Ayla's, quite frankly, grating voice, Link heard a gasp, followed by a groan of annoyance. The beads parted, revealing a young man about Ayla's age, his skin a dark bronze and hair so black it swallowed light, pulled back in a high ponytail. He was slim, and dressed in the same sort of light, loose-fitting tunics, which exposed his shoulders and collarbones, that seemed to be the general fashion in Ravana. His brown eyes, narrowed with irritation, swept over the two of them. Link received a double-take (presumably because of his size, as he easily towered over the man), while Ayla was greeted with a severe, seemingly instinctive frown.

"Oh no," he said, his voice surprisingly high in register, and words sharp with an accent Link was unable to place, "Not you!"

Had a tailor in Castle Town greeted prospective clients in that way, they'd quickly find themselves out of business. Link would definitely have been offended, but Ayla seemed completely at ease with the rudeness, offering him a cheerful wave in return.

"Me!" she announced, stepping forward and hauling him into a tight, bone-crushing hug that made Link immensely glad he wasn't being subjected to it. "Back at last! How have you been, you little shit?"

"I was so happy while you were gone," he replied, voice muffled by the front of her chest. "Let go! You reek!"

"Aw, you enjoy my company, just admit it!" she said, letting him go and smacking his shoulder. She paused, taking a moment to look him over, and nodded in apparent satisfaction. "You look good."

"I've _been_ good," he replied, breaking his severe expression to give her a small smile.

"They've left you alone?" she asked.

"They have," he confirmed. "The lesson you taught them seems to have sunk in. One of them even came in for measurements for a guard's uniform a year ago." He chuckled. "I gave him a discount."

"Huh," she said, taken aback. "First time I've scared someone straight."

"You _were_ quite terrifying." He chuckled again, and looked back at Link. "I see you've brought a friend this time." He took a long moment to study Link closely. "A fellow hunter, judging by the hardware," he noted, indicating the sword and mechanical crossbow, the Zukov, hanging on Link's back.

"Where're my manners?" Ayla said, eyes widening.

"Presumably where you left your sense of propriety, modesty, and personal hygiene," the man said.

She ignored the comment and gestured to Link. "This is Link, he's from Hyrule, our newest brother." She then nodded towards the man. "This is Abbas, the finest tailor in the city, and notorious booze hound."

Abbas smile faded quickly at the last descriptor, shooting her an angry glance. "Once; I got drunk _once_ , and you've never let me forget it!" He shook his head, aiming another smile at Link. "A pleasure to meet you, Link. You may call me Ab, if you'd like. _She_ certainly won't stop."

 **Nice to meet you, Abbas,** Link signed, slowly spelling out his name, quickly deciding that the nickname was faster to say, but afraid of insulting his host.

Abbas looked confused for a moment, before he realised it, and frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise...I don't understand signing..."

"Ah, it's okay," Ayla said, shaking her head. "Link doesn't mind—besides, I'm here to translate for him. He said it's nice to meet you, and he spelled out your name."

"Ah," Abbas said, his smile returning. "In that case, welcome to my shop. I hope Ayla's slander hasn't given you a poor impression of me or my skills—I assure you, you will find no better tailor than me in Ravana."

Link smiled back and nodded, hoping to convey his belief in that statement. There was definitely confidence behind it, and if Ayla vouched for him...well, who was Link, whose only expertise in the art of sewing involved wounds that needed to be closed, to argue?

"Nothing wrong with his bragging skills, that's for sure," Ayla said, snickering.

"So, I assume you are here for a reason other than catching up," Abbas said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, looking between them both. "New outfits?"

"We have an important meeting in three days," Ayla explained. "With Master Terra, and we can't walk around in this furnace you call a city dressed in these clothes." She gestured to their thick leathers and heavy cotton clothing.

"The collective noses of the city would certainly agree," he said, wrinkling his nose, which made Link slightly self-conscious. Was he really that bad? "I think we can manage that," Abbas continued. "How long are you staying here?"

"If all goes according to plan, a week, week and a half," Ayla said. "But knowing hunter business, we're probably looking at two weeks, at least. Can you have something ready by tomorrow? I'd like to show Link around _without_ melting in the meantime."

"As long as it's something simple, certainly," Abbas said, gesturing to himself. "Something like this for the gentleman, and your usual for casual wear in the city?"

"You all right with something like that?" Ayla asked Link, who nodded. "Sounds good to me. We'll also need something a little more professional-looking for our meeting—"

"I can make something similar to the guard uniforms, if you like," Abbas said. "In more muted colours, of course. Atelier hunters seem to prefer that sort of fashion these days, at least for when they're roaming at home."

Link recalled seeing the Ravana city watch members parading around the streets in brightly-coloured, military-style uniforms, wincing a little at the memory of plumed helmets.

 **Just not bright yellow,** he signed to Ayla, who relayed the wish.

"Of course not," Abbas said, looking offended. "I was thinking a lighter tan colour—reflects more heat to make up for the slightly heavier material. I can't do much in terms of sigils or epaulettes—"

"We don't need any of that stuff, just something that doesn't look like we just came in off the street," Ayla said. "Whatever you can do like that is more than fine, Ab."

"All right," Abbas said as he went behind his counter and brought out a piece of paper, a pen, as well as a measuring ribbon. "So...one casual outfit apiece for express delivery tomorrow, two uniforms, and..." he looked at them. "How many more casual outfits for each?"

"I'm thinking three or four, depending on how long we're staying—I'm not sure how much laundry we'll be able to do."

"Let's make it four, then, assuming I can send the bill to the usual place?"

"You can," Ayla confirmed. At Link's confused look, she elaborated, "The Atelier has made arrangements with most businesses in town—they'll pay for things like clothes, weapons, special equipment...just about anything related to our profession, really. Meals not taken at the Atelier we'll have to cover ourselves, though."

 **Should we eat there?** Link asked.

"Hell no," she said, grimacing. "The food there's more likely to kill you than nourish you."

"One case of food poisoning, and they'll never hear the end of it," Abbas said as he continued writing up the details for the order. "Right, any specific desires for materials, or will you leave that to me?"

"Just pick what's suitable for the environment here, and somewhat comfortable," Ayla said, looking to Link for confirmation, which she got. "We're not picky."

"All right," Abbas said, finishing the order and looking at Link. "Please step towards the mirror, take your weapons and coat off, and I will take your measurements."

Link did as he was told, closely followed by Abbas, who was brandishing his ribbon.

"Oh, you're...taller than I thought," the tailor said, blinking as he stepped up to Link's front, where his chin barely reached the middle of Link's chest. He blushed a little when he realised what he'd said, and cleared his throat. "Arms out, please."

"He's a big'un, all right," Ayla drawled, making herself comfortable on a stack of fabric rolls. "Practically dwarfs his beau, which is always amusing to see."

Link felt his eye twitch at having that particular detail of his personal life revealed so casually, but Abbas didn't seem perturbed by it at all, simply nodding. "Opposites attract, as they say," he mumbled as he measured the span of Link's arms, then each individual arm, his total height, his inseam, and so on. "And who is the lucky gentleman? Another hunter, perhaps?"

"Not anymore," Ayla said smoothly, ignoring Link's pointed looks as she continued to reveal his personal history to someone he'd just met. "Poor thing had to retire from hunting because of his injuries, but he manages our library now."

"Ah, the Sanctuary I've heard so much about," Abbas said, writing down the numbers that made up Link's total bulk.

"You've heard of it?"

"It was all the hunters here talked about, for a time," Abbas said, giving Link an intense look that made the Hylian fidget slightly. "I'm just trying to figure out good colours for you, my friend," he said when he noticed it. "I am thinking some lighter and darker shades of green, how does that sound?"

Link smiled and nodded. He'd always liked green.

"Duly noted," Abbas said, smiling back. "I shall see what I can do."

"They talk about the Sanctuary?" Ayla prompted, which made the tailor frown.

"Yes," he confirmed. "As well as the Studio's destruction. No details, of course, only that it was utterly annihilated, along with nearly every hunter present. I was so worried until I got your letter." He sent her a pointed glance at that. "You could have been a bit faster with that, you know."

She scratched her neck, shrugging. "We were busy foiling an attempted coup at the time, and then building a new workshop. I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad you're all right," he said. "Both of you," he added for Link's benefit. "I'm...sorry about your master. She sounded like a good woman."

"The best," Ayla said, and Link nodded.

True, Sheik and Impa's relationship had been, for the lack of a better word, tense, but given their history that was to be expected. Despite the words that flew between them, Link had sensed a genuine familial bond there, and love, though not of a very overt sort. And she had sacrificed her own life to ensure Sheik and the other, younger hunters, would make it out alive. Link could do nothing but respect her for that.

Sheik had been absolutely devastated by her death, and still felt it keenly every day, despite how he kept claiming he had made his peace with it. The cheek tattoo, which he'd gotten without telling anyone, was only one symptom of that.

Link, not wanting to upset his lover, simply nodded along, making sure that he was available whenever Sheik had what Link had come to call "fragile moments". That is, moments where his Sheikah was prone to do something stupid like accidentally injure himself while cleaning his blades because his mind was in completely different place than the rest of him...and the inevitable fallout that followed.

More often than not, his mind was back at the Studio, with his aunt and the others who died there. He denied it, of course, and Link didn't argue. But he was there, and that mattered a little, right?

He hoped so.

"Right, that's it for you," Abbas said, patting Link's arm. "Ayla, you're next."

"I swear, if you tell me my waist has gotten bigger..." she told Abbas warningly, curling her fists.

"The ribbon does not lie," he said evenly, meeting her challenge. He turned to Link, pointing towards the doorway leading to the backroom. "I have a restroom back there, if you would like to freshen up," he said. "Food, too, if you're hungry. Just fruit, but anything that fills you up, right?"

Link paused, quite sure this was not normal for a business owner to offer out of the blue, even to their customers. Abbas must have sensed his consternation, however, and chuckled.

"Any friend of Ayla's is a friend of mine," he offered as an explanation. "And you look a little tired; no offence."

"Go ahead, Link," Ayla said, shooing him towards the doorway. "And bring me back a pear, or something."

Feeling a bit like he was being asked to leave, Link ventured deeper into the shop. The backroom was, as he'd thought, the place where Abbas did most of his work. Mannequins, pedal-powered sewing machines, reams of fabric being prepared for use, and half-finished clothes covered every available bit of space in the room just beyond the shop. Connected to it was a small, kitchen-like area, with another, smaller washroom behind it.

He took the opportunity to thoroughly wash what areas he could, hoping to alleviate some of the riper aspects to his scent, if only for Abbas' sake. He let the sink fill up with cold water, relieved to be able to cool down his heated skin just a little. He worked as fast he could, not wanting to intrude on the tailor's hospitality any longer than he had to. Afterwards, he found a bowl of various fruits on the counter in the kitchen, and helped himself to an apple and, as requested, brought a pear for Ayla.

He paused at the doorway, however, when he heard the two having a quiet, muted conversation clearly not meant for his ears. Ayla had clearly forgotten about Link's enhanced hearing, however.

"...can't believe he's still here," Abbas said quietly. "I thought my testimony would be enough, but there was virtually no consequence—not for him, at least. Just a general notice to behave themselves while in the city."

"S'what happens when you have powerful friends," Ayla muttered in return, her voice wavering slightly. "He knows several council members, apparently. Got Terra by the balls, more or less. More and more I think about, I'm convinced I'm lucky I got away from the whole thing alive, if not unscathed."

"Does it hurt still?"

Abbas question was even quieter, and it took Ayla a long moment to answer.

"Every day."

"I have some medicine that might help—"

"Ab."

Silence.

"I'm sorry. I just...I wish I'd been able to do something—"

"You were a kid, Ab."

Another moment of silence. A shaky breath.

"So were you."

A long moment.

"No...I hadn't been a kid for a long time, at that point."

"Still..."

"Still...it remains in the past." Ayla cleared her throat. "So, what kind of fashion disaster are you going to put me in this time, eh? I still haven't lived down the tea ceremony incident, you know."

Abbas made a frustrated sound. "You'll never let me forget that, will you?" he asked. "That was just as much your fault as it was mine—granted, the veil was a bit of a mistake, but you should have known better than try to use it as a strainer!"

Now that the conversation had turned to a lighter subject, followed by the subsequent raising of their voices to a more normal level, Link took it as his queue to come back. He made a bit of a racket with the bowl, just in case, and re-entered the front part of shop.

Abbas was finishing taking notes about Ayla, giving her a slight grin. "You remember that bit about your waist...?"

"I will kill you, Abbas."

"I will hold my tongue, then."

"Link, can you believe this guy?" the Gerudo was giving him an incredulous look. "Years of friendship, and this is what I get!"

 **You probably deserve it,** Link signed after tossing her the pear, which she barely caught. **And what was that about a veil?**

"Oh, that's a good story," she said, biting into the fruit and ignoring the hatred radiating off Abbas. "So, I got invited to this fancy tea party by some nob a few years back, but I had nothing to wear so I decided to have Abby—"Abbas growled"—here make me an outfit suitable for the occasion. Unfortunately, he decided to go a bit _ethnic_ with his design..."

She spent the next five minutes reciting one of the most harrowing tales Link had ever heard, and as far as he was concerned the titular Tea Party of Doom was more akin to a battlefield than a social event (though, in the broadest of senses, he supposed you couldn't get more social than during battles). He had to admit, though, he was impressed with Ayla's very creative uses for the veil Abbas had given her outfit.

"...and I'm pretty sure the place was on fire when I left," she finished, surveying her audience's horrified faces. "What? _She_ started it."

"That story gets worse and worse every time I hear it," Abbas muttered as he returned to the counter, looking over the order. "Right, I should get started if you want your clothes ready by tomorrow."

"Ah, we'll get out of your hair, then," Ayla said, putting her jacket back on and re-holstering her weapons. "We're overdue for checking in, anyway." She walked up to Abbas and drew him into another hug, this one quite gentle, and he only made a token protest this time before hugging her back. "Want to have dinner tomorrow? We're staying at a hotel near the artificer's quarter."

"I'd love to," he replied. "As long as I'm not imposing."

"Ab, you couldn't impose even if you actively tried," she said, releasing him. "Link doesn't mind, right?"

 **Not at all,** Link signed, nodding for emphasis.

"It's settled, then. We'll come collect you when the time comes."

"I am looking forward to it," Abbas said. "Your clothes will be ready around noon, if you wish to get them before dinner."

Link shook Abbas' hand before they left, the Hylian's mind already clicking and whirring as he considered the conversation he'd overheard between him and Ayla. Was it related to Mel and the agitation he'd woken in the Gerudo? If it were, he had every intention of finding out...and how he could use it to exacting utter vengeance on his pack member.

"You're looking awfully thoughtful," Ayla noted as they headed back towards the busy market square, the heat surprisingly stifling in comparison to the atmosphere of Abbas' shop.

 **That tea party...** Link signed vaguely.

"Heh, yeah, it sticks with you for a long time," she said, chuckling. "Incidentally, that was the night I discovered men and women are just as much fun in bed."

Link's train of thought derailed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Argh, stupid world building!**


	10. The Pen is Mightier

How people managed to sleep in Ravana was beyond Link. It had been difficult enough out in the woods, with the humidity and cacophony courtesy of the wildlife, but here, in the city, with the trapped heat of the day lingering in and among the buildings in addition to his own increased body temperature, he found it absolutely impossible. Ayla, clearly used to such environment, was snoring up a storm in the room adjoining his.

Lucky you, he thought, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, counting them over and over again. The window was fully open, but the breeze that blew into the room just added more heat. He missed Sheik—he missed him in general, but right now he missed Sheik because his lover was always cold, as if countering Link's own overactive furnace of a body. It would certainly have made it easier to sleep here if he had a freezing Sheikah cuddling up to him.

It was a relief when the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, and the sounds of the city waking up started to echo through the streets. The hours of darkness were not the time to wander around in Ravana, Ayla had told him, and Link was in no hurry to test that warning, so he'd stayed put in his sweltering hotel room. Now, however...

He got out of bed, washed up in the floor's shared restroom, and got dressed in the cleanest set of clothes he had. Hopefully, Abbas would have their new outfits ready today—Link could only imagine how much more comfortable the thin, airy getup the tailor had worn would be in the heat down here. He went to fetch his weapons, but thought better of it when he remembered the ugly looks he and Ayla had gotten from the watchmen as they'd walked around the city armed to the teeth.

I already stand out too much as it is, Link thought, leaving his Zukov and silver-grooved sword by the bed, out of sight. He kept his knife in his belt, though, not wanting to take the chance on being caught out without a weapon to defend himself with. He went for the door, pausing as he remembered something important.

_**Went out for a bit - will be back soon.** _

_**-Wolf** _

Hopefully Ayla wouldn't be _too_ upset with him leaving without her, but Link was going to melt and explode if he had to stay in this room any longer, and he didn't want to wake her up too early (because damn, Ayla was scary if she wasn't allowed to sleep in on her days off). He slid the note under her door, and left the hotel.

She'd talked the place up a little more than it deserved, in his opinion. The building was clearly on the older side, in dire need of certain repairs, but at least the interior was reasonably clean, and the bedding hadn't been used before (which was always a fifty-fifty sort of thing, according to Sheik). The staff was...well, not necessarily rude, but not overly welcoming either. Ayla apparently preferred it that way, because it meant they didn't ask questions as long as you paid your bill.

I could never live down here, Link thought as he aimlessly wandered the streets and alleys around the artificers' quarter, already feeling a sweat breaking out, even before the sun had started its relentless heating of the air. I'd go insane from the heat.

There weren't many interesting things to see at this time of day—the shops and workshops hadn't opened yet, so the artificers' quarter was mostly empty save for a few carts delivering materials to the shops. Realising he'd walked in a circle, Link expanded his plodding route and soon enough found himself in streets he did not recognise. This part of Ravana seemed a little older than the artificer's quarter, the buildings and streets made with different materials and cobbled differently, more roughly. The streets themselves were narrower, too, clearly not made for the large carts and carriages that trundled up and down the other parts of town.

He found a small square with a bubbling fountain. There was a giant mural on a wall on the opposite side of the square, seemingly depicting a war between several cities, heroes rising and dying, and ending with several sets of men and women shaking hands. He took a moment to enjoy the very detailed painting, wondering if this was showing the time before Ravana and the other city states in the region had made peace with each other.

Any further theorising was interrupted by the sound of a door opening, coupled with a ringing bell. Link turned his head, spotting the glass door that had opened, and a woman flipping a sign on it to say _**Open**_. It was the first one he'd seen written in Common down here, and he felt drawn to it. He entered the shop, and his nose was assaulted by the musty smell he'd come to associate with old books and paper, the sort that hung around Sheik's library back home in the Sanctuary.

A book shop—specialising in old ones, apparently, judging by the worn looks of the wares lining the shelves of the small, cramped floor space. Shops here apparently liked keeping things small...or maybe this was all they could afford? He pulled a random book off the closest shelf, and quickly realised he had no chance of reading it because the language was one he'd never seen before (linguistics was more Sheik's hobby than his) and made to put it back.

"Good morning, and welcome to The Pen is Mightier!" a bright, loud voice announced, punctuating the silence of the place, startling Link so badly he dropped the book on the floor, where a small cloud of dust erupted either from the book itself, or the carpet. He didn't want to know which. "How can I help you today?"

The woman from before, a red-haired Hylian with soft, blue eyes, was looking at him from behind a counter wedged into a corner (really more of a plank balanced on two tall piles of books), giving him the biggest smile he'd ever seen on a person. She was dressed in a white suit jacket with blue edges, and a matching skirt of a modest length, ending just below her knees. He smiled in return, nodding, wishing not for the first time that he could reply in kind. He bent down to pick up the book, frowning when he saw a few sheets had come loose from the binder. He turned back to the woman, intending to give an apologetic gesture (and pay for the damage), but she simply shook her head.

"Oh, don't worry about that!" she announced just as loudly from before. "The books on that shelf aren't rare, and no great loss! I'll fix it up later, if you'll just put it in that bin!" She gestured towards a small crate by the door, in which there were several other books that had clearly not been treated well. Still frowning, he did as he was told, and by the time he was done, she'd emerged from behind the counter and stalked up to him, still smiling. "As I said, welcome to my shop, The Pen is Mightier. As my first customer of the day, you get special service! My name is Navina, but you may call me Navi!"

Link blinked, his mind stumbling over the name for some unfathomable reason.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for today, sir?"

When Link just continued to stare at her, her smile diminished a little.

"Hey, are you listening?" she asked, before gasping with widened eyes. "Oh, I didn't mean—I'm sorry if you're deaf and I just offended you—wait, how can you hear my apology if I...oh...bugger!"

The exclamation jogged his head back into action, and Link shook his head fiercely, pointing to his ears and giving her a thumbs up, which alleviated her panic a little (but only so much). He then pointed to his throat and mimicked speaking, shaking his head.

She caught on quickly, luckily, and nodded. "Ah, of course, my apologies! Would you like something to write on?" Link nodded, unable to stop himself from smiling as she more or less hurled herself back behind the counter, fetching a pen and some paper, with another book for a writing surface. "here you go!" she announced, handing it to him.

Link wrote quickly.

_**Good morning - my name is Link. Nice to meet you, Navi. I am not looking for anything in particular - just browsing.** _

"It's very nice to meet you too, Link!" Navi said, shaking his proffered hand. "Would you like a tour of the place, or do you just want to roam the aisles on your own?"

_**A tour would be nice. Do you have a fiction section?** _

"Of course! Please follow me!"

Navi, who seemed to be around thirty, did not appear to have an internal volume control. Speaking, walking, writing—all of it was done very loudly. Even her _pointing_ made sound, somehow, maybe by way of cutting the air itself with her sharp nails, which, when Link looked closer, were very likely able to cut someone's throat with a single swipe. The rest of her looked quite harmless, but those claws...

"...and this is where you will find what fiction I have on offer!" she concluded the short, efficient, and very audible tour of her little bookshop, waving to a single bookcase where several dusty-looking tomes made their home. It was full of gaps and empty sections. "Admittedly, most of it is folklore and old legends! Novels and such aren't really what my regular clients are after!"

Link smiled and nodded. Novels weren't what he was after anyway. He wrote on his paper again.

_**I'm rather interested in old tales and folklore from this region. Particularly, do you have anything on shape-shifting or blood-sucking creatures?** _

Every place had its own variations and observations on werewolves and vampires, he'd quickly discovered after Sheik had spent an evening lecturing him on the subject in the library, supported by Ascal's copious notes. That particular session had ended on the supposed mating habits of werewolves according to a nearly blind historian from some tiny village in bumfuck nowhere...after which Link gave Sheik a _physical_ demonstration of said habits, and as it turned out the theory was nowhere _close_ to practice!

Evidently, that was the wrong thing to ask for, as Navi's smile faded a little around the edges, and her voice came out a little quieter than usual. "Ah, you're one of _them_ , aren't you?" she asked, touching his arm. "Before anything, I just want to say _thank you_." At Link's confused expression, she smiled a little wider. "You people risk your lives out there to keep the rest of us safe and in ignorance of the horrible monsters that roam the world."

_**You know about us?** _

She read the note and nodded, looking around in an exaggerated conspiratorial manner, like someone was listening. "I've had a few...run-ins with your organisation over the years, usually about research. Just a few months back a whole group of them came along and purchased every single book I had on mythological creatures, particularly of the...blood-sucking kind, like you asked for. Is there something special going on?"

_**Just interested in what local scholars think about it, and legends,**_ Link wrote, unsure of how much information he could share with her. The Grand Hunt was, after all, not supposed to be an overly visible thing, even to those in the know. With any luck, the remaining vampires of the world (barring one particular individual, of course) would be wiped out with no great fanfare, and completely unbeknownst to the population at large. _**I'm new to the city, and curious about it.**_

"If you say so," she said and winked, again, in a way that was in no way subtle or inconspicuous. Covert operations were definitely not her area of expertise—Link found that a little endearing. "Well, as I said, this is all I have at the moment, and I...oh, wait!" She took off towards the backroom door, waving for him to follow. "I just got something in!" she offered as an explanation. She went through the door, still waving at him. "Come on, come on!"

Link followed her cautiously, stepping through the narrow doorway while pushing the door open wider, and—

"Watch out!"

A pile of books, previously carefully heaped up behind the door, cascaded down, threatening to bury him under a mountain of words, but he managed to jump out of the way just in time. A final, gigantic tome of a book landed at his feet.

"Lucky, that," Navi said, staring at the pile of books at their feet. "Third volume of Miyamoto's _Hyrule Historia_ ;certainly no joke for the toes. It'll snap your femur at the right angle, even. Or is it the _wrong_ angle?" She shrugged and, with no further mention of the mess Link had—accidentally—created, she pulled him further into the backroom, which seemed to be reserved for her own personal study area, as well as a workbench she seemed to use for restoring books. On her desk was, predictably, a pile of books, but these seemed to be newer. "It's right here," she said, pulling one of them from the pile. "It's not an official textbook," she said. "More of a journal or diary, written by someone like you...er, or in your profession! Dates back decades, at least!

She practically thrust it into his chest, and he was nearly forced back by the force of it. He took the worn journal and opened it, finding page after page of neat writing in the Sheikah language. He couldn't read it—Sheik was trying to teach him, but their sessions were too far apart due to their differing schedules to make any proper headway. All he could do at the moment was write his and Sheik's names (inevitably outlined by a heart).

The writing in the journal was sometimes paired with illustrations of weapons, tools, and...and...

A sketch of a lycanthrope—and not the type you found in fanciful tales, all sleek and perfectly proportioned. This was the sort of misshapen, freakish brutes Link had helped Sheik take down on the night of their first meeting—a dreadful facsimile of a wolf-man, bones and muscles _forced_ into a wolf-like form, but clearly utterly wrong. This, coupled with the writing, proved that this had once been a hunter's journal.

"Good stuff, huh?" Navi asked, seeing his wonder. "I can't read much of the Sheikah language, unfortunately; they're notoriously cagey about teaching those outside the clans. All I was able to was deduce the name of its owner: Rama."

All in all, Link thought he did quite well at hiding his reaction to hearing Sheik's grandfather's name, as well as the fact that he was holding the man's journal. The journal of the man who had, with his jealousy (at least according to one source) started a fight that had resulted in first his wife's death, and then the destruction of the Studio years and years later. Really, if all indication he gave about how extraordinary this find was to widen his eyes a little and draw a sharp breath, then he was willing to pat himself on the shoulder.

Good Link, good!

"What do you think?"

He gave her a smile he knew to be just a little too crooked to be genuine, and nodded. _**Where did you find this?**_

"I'm not entirely sure, to be honest," she said. "Found it in a large box of miscellaneous items in the market. Came from up north, apparently. Some place called...er...White-something. Whitehill? Whitepeak?"

_**Whiteridge.** _

He almost dreaded showing her the paper. Her eyes lit up.

"Yes! That's it! Whiteridge! Someone moved down here and brought a whole bunch of stuff—sold most of it, apparently. I didn't really ask, I was just intrigued by the writing, really. I was waiting for one of you to stop by again so I could hand it over, so...there you go!"

He nodded weakly, slipping the journal into his pocket. _**Thanks. I'll make sure it reaches the right hands.**_

Those hands being the writer's grandson, that is.

"Glad to hear it!"

The doorbell rang again as another customer entered the store, and Navi perked up. "Ah, duty calls!" she said. "I'd love to talk to you some more, but..."

He nodded and gave her a smile, shaking her hand again.

"Feel free to keep browsing—maybe you'll find something else that catches your eye!" she announced as she led him out of the backroom and closed the door behind them, apparently ignoring the mess Link had made. "Don't worry, that was bound to happen sooner or later. Should have cleared that pile weeks ago," she assured him as she spotted the new customer, her smile growing to the same degree as it had been at first. "Good morning, and welcome to The Pen is Mightier!" She announced. "I'll be with you in a second!"

Link, not wanting to take up more of her time, quickly excused himself and left the shop, abandoning the new customer to be sonically assaulted by its very kind, but loud owner. By now, the clocks were striking eleven in the morning, and he decided it was time to wake Ayla lest she sleep the whole day away. He wanted to get the journal safely into his pack, too. He touched the cover nervously as he walked, keeping his fingertip on the leather. If he lost this...

As it were, Ayla was already awake and on her way out just as he reached their floor.

"There you are," she said, grinning. "Had a nice walk? Find anything interesting?"

Link prided himself on his ability to keep the Beast in check, to not let it override his actions with its own basic instincts. Unfortunately, this sometimes resulted in a reduced ability to keep secrets. Not big secrets, like Sheik's vampirism, of course, but the smaller ones...well, those were sometimes let slip by accident.

**Found a bookshop,** he signed. **And what I think is Sheik's grandfather's journal.**

Failing to keep the secret was, in hindsight, worth it just for the look on her face. "What?!" she exclaimed. "How did you...where did...when did...how!?" She pushed him inside her room, slamming the door shut. "All right, tell me everything."

He relayed the story quickly and broadly.

"The Pen is Mightier?" she asked. "Never heard of the place. Other hunters have been there, too, looking for books on vampires? Makes sense, I suppose—since a Grand Hunt has been declared on them, we'd need as much information on them as we could find, even if it'd mean filtering the dregs of folklore." She touched the journal carefully, opening it on the first page. "It definitely belonged to someone named Rama, but..." She hesitated. "I'm not sure if I should read this. It's not for us, after all."

**You can read it?** Link asked, surprised.

"Mana taught me," she explained. "Wasn't easy, but I managed." She looked at him. "I'll admit, I'm curious as hell about this, but...what will little brother think?"

Link shrugged. He honestly had no idea how Sheik would react to someone else reading his grandfather's account before him. And now that he knew that Ayla could read it...well, his curiosity was almost as hard to rein in as the Beast on bad days.

**We can think about it?** he suggested. **We're meeting Abbas soon.**

"Right, right," she said, nodding. "We can decide what to do with it when we get home after dinner tonight." She paused. "You realise we might have another account of what happened with Ascal on our hands, right? If this was written around the time he married Rivea, or when Impa and Iana were born..."

**More than aware,** Link signed, giving the journal a look.

"Right, putting this away until we've decided, then," she said, stuffing the journal into her pack, in a hidden pocket. "You realise little brother's going to kill us if we read it before him, right?"

**You, maybe,** Link signed. **He loves me.**

Her stricken look, like the one from before, was priceless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I really couldn't resist putting Navi in this story, albeit in a little different form than usual!**


	11. The Unyielding Girl

It started raining soon after he'd left Felhearth, making his already bad mood considerably worse. Bad enough he'd been unable to purchase any worthwhile supplies due to the traders being mysteriously short on the wares he needed, coupled with his aching ribs that made it difficult to breathe, if the weather gods didn't feel the need to piss on him as well.

On top of it all, he'd accidentally left some of his initial supplies back on Thomas' train in his hurry to get away from the human, who had, for some inexplicable reason, taken a fancy to him. Likely, it was a reaction to the fear of the night he'd lived through—some instinct awakened by his immense relief to be alive, resulting in an overwhelming need to...to...well, nothing that would lead to anything if he did it with Sheik, at least.

_At least he handled the rejection well,_ he told himself, hoping the older man hadn't done something stupid, like drink himself to death in that shithole of a town.

He'd hoped to make good time on his remaining journey, but was disappointed to find himself absolutely exhausted by nightfall, forced to make a pathetic excuse for a camp under the thickest bunch of trees he could find by the road. He hadn't brought any proper camping equipment, on account of not really needing to rest at night...as well as (naïvely, in hindsight) hoping to pick up what he needed from traders along the way.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ he thought. _Even left my oilskin on the train—in too much of a hurry to get away from Thomas I forgot it. Fucking hell, Sheik, you sure manage to do the_ stupidest _things when you're not careful._

At least the fire stayed burning thanks to the shelter, and while he didn't get much use out of the heat, the light was a bit of a comfort in the gloominess of the pitch black of the night. Honestly, he didn't need the fire at all, but he'd lit one anyway out of habit when he'd made camp.

He adjusted his position on the log that served as his seat, forcing grunting when various aches and pains reported for duty throughout his body. His ribs, as he'd expected, were the worst, each breath setting off small of explosions of agony along his sides, wheezing with effort.

_I need blood,_ he thought, closing his eyes as another wave of pain shot through him, triggered by a small cough.

The admission was as shameful as it was true. His body had been battered far too much to be able to heal properly on its own, and he needed proper sustenance to speed up its ability to recover. That meant he had to hunt, but...that was rather difficult, right now. He doubted he'd be able to chase down a deer, for example, or hide his presence enough to sneak up on some other woodland creature—his wheezing would give him away long before he had a chance to strike.

One option was to find another camp, to ambush them and...and...

He shook his head. _No, not an option,_ he thought. _I'm not_ that _desperate. It'll be a cold day in hell before I'm truly that far gone._

He was probably ridiculous for adhering to this principle, the laughing stock of his entire species, but if he had to compromise his entire identity for the sake of survival, then he would at least be a fucking exemplary member of said species.

_Nothing sapient,_ he thought. _I am_ not _one of them. I just happen to share their traits and...unique dietary habits._

He growled and poked himself in the side, wincing at the blossoming feeling of a thousand needles erupting at the spot. Nothing good came of thinking about this, not when he was miserable already. He didn't dare think what the next stage of his bad mood was—and hoped he'd never find out.

_I'll just have to heal the old-fashioned way,_ he convinced himself, remembering Ascal's journal and the elder vampire's unique take on what, for him, likely passed as wisdom.

_Our ability to heal from wounds most grievous, the sort that would kill any lesser species, is nothing short of extraordinary. Stab us, slice us, freeze us, boil us, shoot us in the head (a favourite of yours, I understand), and we'll be fine if given enough time. Less so, even, if we feed afterwards._

_Cutting our heads off is fairly disabling, true, but place said heads next to our bodies and wait—admittedly a long time—and watch as the two pieces find each other, knitting together like they were never separated in the first place! Amazing, is it not? Really, burning us is the only way to truly get rid of us...but then again, so it is with most things, living or dead, in our world. Now, the head thing reminds me of the time Gideon..._

_That passage had culminated in a tale of the time Ascal's own sire's head had been humorously (for a vampire, at least) separated from his body in a freak accident involving a chicken, a prop guillotine, and a theatre troupe whose productions has subsequently been touted as having the most realistic fake executions in the land!_

Said sire had, understandably, _not_ been amused, but had let the theatre troupe go on account of them graciously returning his head once it had been paraded around on a pike for a while. He'd even kept the pike as a memento.

The chicken, however, had not been so lucky. Ascal swore he could still hear clucking from the corners of dark rooms.

_I do believe the bullet I put in his head has scrambled up more than his memories,_ Sheik thought, poking at the fire with a stick, hoping it would stop raining soon.

_I do not feel the cold, but walking in soaked clothes is still one of the worst sensations in the world,_ he thought. _If only Link were here...he'd probably dry my clothes in minutes, walking furnace that he is!_

He frowned, then. He missed his lover, true, but he was also worried. Ravana was...a difficult place. He'd only been there once, and he'd hated every second of it. Granted, he'd been a child of five, but the city, with its noise, smells, and chaos, had not left him with a positive impression.

And what would Terra think of the last hunter inducted at the Studio? Would he find him lacking? Unable to live up to the deeds and reputations of the brothers and sisters who'd made that place what it was?

_And what if he realises what Link is? What if_ anyone _does? A city full of hunters...he'd never be able to escape. Not without...doing something drastic._

And poor Ayla would be dragged into that nasty business, as if she wouldn't have a tough enough time being back in that place already. He didn't know the details, but he was surprised to see her volunteering to be Link's chaperone. A look from her had discouraged any questions, however, and Sheik could only hope that she'd find some sort of closure...or at least distract herself from the trouble long enough to get Link out of there and safely back home again.

_Same for me,_ he thought. _Who the hell knows what'll happen at that holdfast?_

Ascal's notes had been less than useless on that account. All they'd revealed was the location, that he would be acknowledged as the heir, and then...nothing.

_What will_ they _be expecting of_ me _, even?_ he wondered. _Will I have to make a show of what I am? Drain the blood of a virgin in front of them to satisfy some stupid cliché that they have embraced in an ironic way, as a sort of "fuck you" to the mortals who, while not believing in them, still cower in fear at the stories? Still line their doorsteps with salt, drape garlic around their necks?_

_Ascal and Dehl are the only other vampires I've met, and they were hardly what I would consider to be "normal" representatives of their kind...or perhaps they are, and I've just inherited the position as the only sane man in a madhouse—no wonder Ascal said I would hate it..._

That thought alone made him want to run screaming in the opposite direction, back to Hyrule and the safety of his library. Perhaps he could live in there, convince himself that the outside world was nothing more than a fanciful figment of his imagination. Link could live in there too—he'd just need a small area he could use for exercise and running around when he got too excited. It'd be brilliant!

He slumped, resting his elbows on his thighs. Of course that wasn't an option, but a vampire could dream, right? As it were, all he could hope for was that the occasion was more a formal one than anything else and he'd soon be able to question the other vampires about Ascal's whereabouts. That would make the trip worth it, if he got another chance to wrap his hands around the smug bastard's throat and _squeeze_...

He was about to lose himself in the fantasy of what he'd do to his sire when they met again (it was getting quite detailed, these days), but any further thoughts of revenge were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps on the gravel path.

_Shit,_ he thought. _The fire!_

"Ho there!" a voice cried out, loud enough to be heard over the rain. "May we share your fire?!"

It was too late to put it out, and to deny fellow travellers who'd had the courtesy to announce themselves would be extremely rude, not to mention suspicious. Based on the sound of their footsteps, there were three of them—one very large. Sheik wasn't sure he'd be able to take them on if it came to a fight—not with his ribs in their current condition. If they fell asleep, perhaps he could bite—

_No! I am_ not _like them!_

Realising he'd gone a bit too long without answering, he cleared his throat. "How many of you are there?"

"Three!"

"Come closer one by one, slowly, or I shoot you dead!" He drew a gun, resting it on his thigh without pointing it in their direction. The threat was clear, merely a precaution.

"All right, I'm coming closer now!"

The first of the party was a Hylian man, appearing to be in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in hunter leathers, hands held up in a non-threatening manner, nowhere near the knives hanging at his hips.

"Greetings, hunter," Sheik said evenly, cursing his luck for bringing guests like _this_ to his fire. He could only hope they wouldn't spot anything strange about him...but then again, a Sheikah travelling on his own _was_ strange in itself. "Trailing prey?"

"Returning from a hunt, actually," the Hylian said, stopping near the fire. His hair was, predictably, blonde, and he had the fine features of an aristocrat that did not suit his rugged outfit and equipment. His accent, too, had an elegant sound to it that in no way fit with his lifestyle.

"Success?" Sheik asked.

"Completely," the man replied. "A vampire slain, and his followers destroyed."

"Well done, then," Sheik said, gesturing to the fire, cursing his luck once more. They would know what to look for, then. "Please, join me."

_Though I wish you'd fuck off!_

"Thank you," he replied with a smile, crouching down by it. "My name is Reyne—my partners are Magnus and Jhaan."

"Juichi," Sheik replied, the name coming a little too easily to his lips. He paused.

_Jhaan...I've heard that name before. But where?_

"Pleasure to meet you, Juichi," Reyne said, smiling. "It's always nice to see a friendly face, especially in this place. Though..." he trailed off, frowning a little. "It's strange to see a Sheikah travelling on his own. I thought that was against the rules?"

Sheik shook his head. "It's not so much a rule as a precaution," he said. "Lone Sheikah are more vulnerable and tempting targets for those who would do us harm. It is therefore _suggested_ that we do not travel alone."

"But you are?"

"I prefer it that way, always have." Sheik cleared his throat, looking past Reyne and into the darkness. He could see two distinct shapes hiding among the trees, hands on their weapons. "Your partners?"

"Ah, of course. One by one, yes?"

"Preferably."

"Mag, come on up!"

The largest of the shapes detached itself from the trees and slowly approached the fire with its hands raised, much like Reyne had. A Northman, by the looks of him, utterly gigantic. His face was covered in healed scars, some crisscrossing in a clearly deliberate way, like he'd been tortured. His hair, silver and long, did little to hide the damage. He had a neutral expression on his face, but he nodded politely in greeting.

"Evening," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "Magnus, at your service."

"Juichi, at yours," Sheik greeted in return. "Congratulations on your recent hunt."

"Thank you."

With that, the giant sat down next to Reyne, holding his hands out to the fire to warm himself up, mirroring his partner, who seemed to be shivering a little.

"And the last?" Sheik asked.

"Right here."

Sheik startled, the movement of which pulled at his ribs—he'd been too busy focusing on Magnus to realise the last member of the party had quietly sidled up to them, and was standing to Sheik's left, just outside of the firelight's reach. She was regarding him with a critical expression, face pinched in an ugly grimace, which her slightly upturned nose only further enhanced.

" _Greetings, cousin,_ " Sheik said in their tongue after recovering, his breath coming out in wheezes, which had the other two exchange looks. " _Has the road been treating you well?_ "

" _As well as can be expected, unlike you, cousin,_ " she replied, stepping closer to seat stand by Magnus. "You're hurt," she continued, for the benefit of the others. "I can hear it in your breathing."

"I'm fine," Sheik said. "Just a little bruised."

"cracked ribs, more like. Who did this to you?" she asked, leaning closer, her crimson eyes shining in the firelight. "The people of Felhearth? Have you not been following proper protocol? Why are you travelling alone?"

Keeping himself deadly calm, Sheik looked back at her. "I am travelling on my own because others slow me down," he said. "And I wasn't hurt in Felhearth, I was injured on the train ride here, when we were attacked by green men."

"And you didn't seek medical attention upon arrival?"

"Based on how difficult it was to purchase basic supplies there, I doubt I would have been met with more warmth at the local hospital." He grimaced, not at all comforted by the outraged look on her face. "Besides, there's not much to be done about cracked ribs—they have to heal on their own. And I was in a hurry."

"What is it about Sheikah and their inability to seek help when they need it?" Reyne asked Magnus as the two pretended to be very disinterested in their conversation, already making themselves comfortable, removing their packs and bedrolls.

Magnus grunted in apparent agreement. "Almost as bad as you, Jhaan," he rumbled.

"Shut it, you," she hissed, keeping her attention on Sheik. "So, I'm Jhaan, of the Half-Sun clan. You?"

Sheik blinked. That was _his_ clan! What were the chances of running into a relative in this place? No wonder her name had sounded familiar—he'd probably met her at some point, maybe during a rare clan meeting, years and years ago.

"J-Juichi," he replied, wishing he wasn't exhausted from hunger and his injuries—he could barely keep up with the conversation as it was. "Of the—"

_What clan_ was _Juichi part of, anyway? I never asked..._

"—Moon Crescent," he finished, taking a chance on one of the clans he knew had once had a semi-permanent residence in Termina.

"Moon Crescent, eh?" Jhaan asked, nodding. "Not many of you left."

"Same goes for Half-Sun," he replied tersely, pretending to take offence on behalf of a clan he only now recalled had been declared destroyed a decade ago...all the while offending _his own_! A few members of the Moon Crescent were still around, but no longer organised.

_I am such a fucking idiot,_ he thought. _Though on the other hand, no clan means no records, means no way of verifying my identity_.

She had the decency to look contrite, frowning. "Apologies, I did not mean to offer insult. I was just surprised to hear you refer to your clan by its name—I would have thought the survivors would have joined other clans by now. Some mourn longer than others, I suppose." She briefly touched her cheek, in the spot where Sheik knew his tear tattoo was located.

"We are proud of where we came from," he offered as an explanation. "But if you must know, I am not affiliated with any particular clan at the moment. I am just here to visit relatives who are." He paused. "And...I am sorry, too. My condolences—the loss of Master Impa was a tragedy."

She nodded. "Thank you—truth be told, I am not sure if the Half-Sun will truly recover from it. Her nephew died with her, ending the bloodline. A cousin is being considered for the role as the new clan head, but he is young—inexperienced."

"This would be Master Kafei, yes?" Sheik asked. "Of the Sanctuary in Hyrule?"

"The very same," she said with a nod. "That said, he is a better option than anyone else who would throw themselves on that particular blade—all he needs is to convince the elders that he's suitable. I think they're watching his work at the Sanctuary very carefully to decide that."

"Best of luck to him, then," Sheik said, nodding. "So, where are the three of you headed? Further north?"

"Taking Mag to see his family, now that the hunt is over," Reyne offered, gesturing to the large human next to him. They were sitting rather close, bedrolls touching. The man in question had unslung his axe from his back and was inspecting it in the firelight, running his thumb along the blades to find nicks. "There's a wedding on, apparently."

"Little sister's being wed to the chieftain's son," Jhaan said. "Mag's not happy about it."

"Going to cut his head off," Magnus offered, like killing your leader's son was the most natural thing in the world to do. Knowing northern politics and their rather literal approach to fighting for leadership, Sheik was willing to believe that. The Northman gave Sheik a level stare.

"Ah...good luck with that, then," Sheik said.

"Mag doesn't need luck," Reyne chimed in. "His target, however, does."

There was a shift in the already tense atmosphere, and Sheik noticed that the three were looking at him with narrowed eyes.

_What are they...oh..._

He glanced away from the fire, wishing he'd kept his smoked spectacles on. Had they already noticed the amber dots around his eyes? Surely not! How did they even know that was a sign of his condition?

"Something wrong?" Reyne asked, and only now did Sheik notice that his relaxed state was far from genuine. His legs were under his body, ready to spring into action. Mag was actually sitting down, but his reach was more than long enough, especially with the axe. And Jhaan...

Jhaan had situated herself beside Sheik, cutting off any escape route, unless Sheik spontaneously learned how to fly over the giant boulder on his right.

"Not at all," Sheik said, trying to smile calmly, keeping his breathing calm. Did they know? Or were they just bandits pretending to be hunters? They'd just returned from a vampire hunt, so surely they would know the signs, but...there had never been a...

"Are you sure?" Magnus asked.

"Quite."

"Or are you perhaps feeling the guilt of having stolen a dead man's name weighing down on you?" Jhaan asked, her tone dropping dangerously. "Who are you, really?"

"I don't know what you're—"

"Juichi died last year, murdered by a vampire," she continued. "He wasn't Moon Crescent; if you're going to steal someone's identity, at least do them the courtesy of getting the details right!"

There was nothing for it, really. It was already too late. Rather than fail at talking himself out of the situation, Sheik chose to act.

Rising, too quick for the others to react, he kicked the fire, sending burning embers and debris flying at Reyne and Magnus. Ignoring the wrenching pain in his chest, he turned just in time to dodge Jhaan's fist, aimed squarely at his battered ribcage. The pain of that would have brought him, vampire or not. He twisted out of the way, grabbing her wrist and pulling, using her momentum against her to send her crashing into the boulder.

_No time for guilt, they'll kill me!_

Movement to his right—the head of Magnus' huge axe appearing from the flames, aiming to slam into Sheik's sternum. He jumped to the side, where Jhaan had been sitting, slamming his first down on the flat of the axe. Injured and exhausted, Sheik's strength was still superior, and the impact knocked the axe out of Magnus' hands, dropping it in the remains of the fire, which flared up brilliantly, embers flying every which way.

Still holding his pistol, Sheik flipped it in his hand so the handle functioned as a club, just in time as Reyne joined the fray, knives cutting through the air in an impressive flurry meant to distract and confuse the opponent as he moved closer.

His body ached with every movement, exhaustion weighing him down, and he realised he couldn't keep fighting them off for much longer. He had to disengage and get away, before they wore him down further and made escape impossible. Trying to keep his breathing under control, he waited until Reyne made his next move, charging at him with a determined yell. Sheik blocked one knife with the wooden butt of his gun, and caught the Hylian's wrist with his free hand; with all weapons out of the way, Sheik reeled back and slammed his forehead into Reyne's, which sent him stumbling backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing ungracefully in a thorny bush, legs flailing as he ended upside-down in the thing.

Magnus charged in then, foreign words spilling from his mouth as he hefted a smaller hand-axe and swung with all the force he could muster. Dropping low in a movement that caused him to scream in agony, Sheik dodged the swing, kicking out and catching Magnus in the gut. It was akin to kicking a tree stump—hard and unyielding. It still made the man grunt and paused, and Sheik followed up by slamming the butt of his gun into the base of his skull—not hard enough to kill, but certainly enough to incapacitate. Magnus went down with silently save for a quiet "Fuck" under his breath.

A sharp breath, and he barely managed to reverse his grip on the pistol and turn around, finding another pistol barrel aimed squarely at his forehead.

_How did things end up this wrong?_ Sheik wondered as he and Jhaan kept their guns trained on the other, neither willing to back down.

"Drop it, vamp," Jhaan said acidly. "And I'll make it quick."

"I'd rather not," Sheik replied, bearing his revealed fangs at her. "How about you drop yours instead, and I'll let you live?"

"We outnumber you," she reminded him, eyes blazing. "There's no way you'll leave here alive."

"One's out cold," Sheik said. "The other will be stuck for a while." He could hear Reyne struggling to get out of the bush behind him. Based on the curses, he was nowhere near the point of getting out. "It's just you and me, cousin, and I'd rather not have to kill any of you."

"Don't call me cousin!" she spat. "You are not one of us!"

"I beg to differ," Sheik said, pointing to his eyes. "Wasn't too long ago I was!"

_Which one are you, I wonder,_ he thought. _What relation to each other have we?_

On closer inspection, he could see features that reminded him of any number of his relatives, distant or not.

He glared. "I can survive a gunshot to the head—can you say the same?"

"All I need is one shot!"

_And I've no intention of giving you that,_ he thought, twisting and bringing his arm up. Her reaction was instant, the pistol in her hand going off with a fiery explosion.

Sheik felt the bullet punch into his left forearm a moment later, white-hot fire travelling the entire length of the limb, ending just above his heart. He screamed, which only made the pain in his sides worse, and charged forward, spinning and sweeping the legs out from under her. Kicking her pistol away and planting his knees on her arms, straddling her, he glared down at her defiant face.

"Go ahead, then!" she snarled. "Do it! Kill me!"

He couldn't feel his arm, and Sheik was in no mood to entertain this harpy of a cousin any longer. He placed the barrel of his pistol against her temple.

"Jhaan, no!" Reyne cried. "Don't touch her, you fucking leech!"

"Just one twitch of my finger, and you'd be dead," Sheik growled at her. Gods, it was hard to focus. He could practically _hear_ her pulse beneath him, could see the blood running through the veins of her neck. He needed to feed—the pain and exhaustion were running him ragged. This one would do nicely, would ensure that all his problems would end... "Just. One."

"You better get me on the first try," she warned, face set in a determined grimace that defied the very situation she was in, the sort she had no chance of walking away from without divine intervention.. "Or you'll be looking over the shoulder for the rest of your miserable existence."

Sheik blinked, growling again. Then something clicked into place, and he remembered who she was.. "I remember you, now," he said, her identity finally locking into place in his mind. "You're the girl who wouldn't yield..."

* * *

_There'd been a fight at the clan meeting, the elders forced to pull several rowdy younger teenagers apart as their fight, which had at first been a friendly spar, turned nasty as they ganged up on one girl in particular; a girl who'd refused to stay down even when she'd been beaten soundly._

_Sheik's parents had pulled him and his sister away from the altercation, but he'd seen the girl in question being scolded fiercely by a trainer for not yielding in an honourable manner. Her face, angry and defiant, had stared back at him, like she wasn't listening._

_He'd seen her a few days later, packing her things, leaving the meeting alone. Sheik had asked his sister, and she'd simply said "No one likes her." As if that explained anything at all. He'd promptly forgotten about her, until now._

* * *

His statement caused Jhaan's eyes to widen, and her struggling to cease for a precious moment. He took the opportunity to drop his pistol and slam the fist of his good arm into her temple. Out cold, her body went slack. Checking her breathing to make sure he hadn't accidentally killed her, he was glad to see her chest rising and falling gently.

They were all fine, luckily. Magnus would have to find a new handle for his axe, as the current one was happily burning away in the remains of the fire, and Reyne would...well, he'd likely have a few scrapes and cuts from the thorns of the bush, but his angry shouts confirmed that he, too, was still alive.

_Got to get away,_ Sheik thought, quickly gathering what little he could salvage of his things. His left arm was uselessly hanging at his side, every movement producing agony. He'd have to dig the bullet out, later, and hunt _something_ to feed on.

He threw his supplies and Ascal's journal into his pack and stepped away from the campsite, patting his thigh to make sure his grandmother's _kukri_ was still safely strapped to his thigh, stopping briefly by Reyne's bush.

"I could have killed you all," he said loudly enough to catch the Hylian's attention. "But I didn't. I chose not to. Remember that. And don't follow me, because I will _not_ be as merciful next time."

"You're dead, leech!" Reyne spat.

"I'm quite aware, thank you," he retorted. "Consider yourselves warned, and pray we do not meet again."

And then he left, jogging lightly and ignoring the needles stabbing into his sides as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the hunters as possible.

_All in all,_ he thought, half-delirious from pain, exhaustion, and hunger. _Rain's not so bad after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sheik: The best at making friends!**


	12. The Wake

It was a wonder how much good a change of clothes—particularly ones meant for the current climate—could do for one's outlook on life. After retrieving their first set of outfits from Abbas' shop and changing into them, Link found himself enjoying sightseeing around Ravana a great deal more than before, even when Ayla got lost (while claiming she knew exactly where they were) and led them in what Link suspected were increasingly larger circles.

Not that he cared—he wasn't sweating to death anymore, and he wasn't standing out too much in the crowds (well, at least not clothing-wise. There was nothing that could be done about his height) anymore. He'd even been in a good enough mood to take Ayla to meet Navi and show her the bookshop (and if they were looking for more material from the Studio that _might_ have turned up there, no one had to know that).

"Sweet girl," Ayla had said as they left with a few more books than strictly necessary, aiming kill some more time before going to dinner with Abbas. Link felt good about compensating Navi after she had to put up with him twice in the same day. "A bit chatty, though."

**What do you mean?** Link signed curiously.

"You didn't notice?" Ayla asked, face incredulous. "She literally never stopped talking while we were there. It'd be one thing if we were having a conversation and she stayed on topic, but she spent a good while just talking _at_ us about...well, _everything_."

Link shrugged. **I didn't notice,** he signed. **Must have tuned her out.**

"Lucky you," she replied, poking at her ear. "Pretty sure she gave me tinnitus."

**Like you give us when you decide to sing,** he signed with a grin, dodging the swat she aimed at the back of his head.

"Watch it, fleabag, or I might just decide to serenade you at dinner tonight."

**You would do that to Abbas just to spite me?** he asked with a horrified face.

"Ab will understand," she said confidently. "He's been collateral damage before."

**How do you two know each other, anyway?**

"Long story I don't really care to tell in public," she replied offhandedly as they turned a corner. "We made port in Ravana to sell our spoils, way back when—I met Ab as a kid. We didn't really fit in—me on the ship nor him on the streets. Guess we just...got along with each other easier than we did anyone else. Learned a lot from each other about different ways of thievin'."

**That's all?** Link asked.

"'Course not," she said with a sniff. "But I'd rather not talk about it right now. Ask me again later, or Ab, if you're so curious."

That was the thing about Ayla—you never really knew that you were stepping on her toes until it was too late and she shot you down. She rarely got angry about it, but she made it very clear she would tolerate no more questions on the subject.

He nodded. **I like him,** he signed, hoping that putting the topic to rest would keep the atmosphere amicable. **He's nice**.

"He is, isn't he?" she replied, smiling a little...though it quickly turned into a frown. "Too nice for his own good, really. Not a big fan of confrontation. Got him in plenty of trouble, before. That person who came in for a guard's uniform that he mentioned? They were probably part of the group that tried to extort him the last time I was here—made him pay them _protection money_."

**Protection money?** Link asked. **Protection from what?**

"Mainly protection from them turning up and trashing his shop," she said. "He tried to say no at first, but then one of them turned up and slashed a bunch of his most expensive fabric rolls. He didn't dare turn them down after that, especially not when they started making bodily threats. I'd told him to go to the watch or the hunters for help if someone threatened him, but he was afraid of _them too_." She shook her head. "Likely would've kept paying them if I didn't decide to pay him a visit soon after. Found the group turning his shop into their personal little clubhouse. I was having none of it."

**What did you do?**

She paused. "Beat the shit out of them, of course," she said matter-of-factly. "Threatened to have my pals in the mercenary company pay _them_ a visit. Thugs are easy to scare, really—they're barely a step above muggers."

**A mugger nearly killed you, though,** Link signed, nodding to the miniscule limp in her step.

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's the stupidest shit that gets you. Anyway, they left him alone after that, and Ab's clearly been doing well afterwards." She smiled. "Bit of a relief, to be honest."

They'd walked and talked for a while now, lost track of where they were going. The emerged out from a cramped backstreet onto the docks, which were a whole different kind of busy than the streets.

The smell of fish (both fresh and rotten), coupled with the salt of the sea and unwashed bodies of the workers and sailors around them, assaulted Link's nose. He fought the urge to gag, surreptitiously trying to guide Ayla away from the fishing boats.

"I don't miss being a pirate," she said as they walked along the dockside, past a massive sailing vessel bristling with guns of nearly every calibre. "But I do miss the sea. At night, when everyone else is asleep, and it's just you, the silence, the gentle rocking, the bells marking the hours..." She leaned against a mooring bollard, watching the crew of the ship preparing it for departure. "Coming into port, I was always a bit sad, knowing I had to spend my days and nights on land as my mother and sisters sold their loot and then spent that money just as fast as they'd earned it. I just wanted to be out there again. Then I met Ab, and my time on land wasn't so bad anymore. Soon enough, I didn't want to go back out—partly for Ab's sake, and partly for mine. I didn't want to steal, didn't want to hurt people."

**You could go out to sea again,** Link signed. **Not as a pirate, but as a normal sailor.** He gestured to the ship in front of them. **Sign up one of these.**

She smiled, but shook her head. "Nah, I have duties on land now that are more important. Keeping my little group of idiots alive takes priority—and keeps me busy." Her eyes lit up, and a shit-eating grin appeared on her face. "I suppose you could say..." she began, waiting for dramatic effect.

Link groaned, shaking his head while frantically signing **No, please don't!**

"...that ship has sailed!" She laughed at his anguished face, so proud of herself and her crime against language and good humour everywhere. "Oh come on, I _had_ to!"

**I'm telling Malon about that one,** Link signed.

That shut her up quickly. "You wouldn't!"

**I would,** he confirmed. **I will**.

"You're an evil bastard, you know that?" she said. "Is Sheik aware?"

**He knows,** Link signed happily, noticing that the sun was getting quite low, the light turning a golden-orange as it began to sink below the cliffs that shielded Ravana's harbour bay from storms. **We should head back, pick up Abbas.**

"Yeah," she agreed with a nod, hefting her bag of books higher on her shoulder. "Getting close to dinnertime. Come on, I know a shortcut."

Five minutes later, they passed the same spot on the docks, Ayla's face burning red, muttering about streets moving around, while Link tried (keyword being _tried_ ) to keep his laughter in.

* * *

Dinner was had in a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant (quite literally—there was no proper door, just a hole in the brickwork) that Abbas and Ayla swore by, claiming it had some of the best food Ravana had to offer. They certainly had all the spices Ravana had to offer—ten minutes into the meal Link felt like his mouth was on fire, doing his best impression of a dog as he panted, trying to cool down his poor tongue.

The Beast grumbled in the back of his head, clearly displeased—like he was mocking it.

Ayla and Abbas, however, was enjoying his discomfort immensely, laughing like the bullies they were.

Only when he reached for the pitcher of water did one of them take pity.

"Link," Abbas said. "Link, no! Water just makes it worse—eat some bread instead!"

_You_ try having the tongue of a werewolf and see how easy it is to deal with, Link thought, giving the tailor a rude finger gesture that only made him laugh harder.

Ayla flagged down a waiter, exchanging a few words in a local dialect the Hylian had no hope of understanding, who quickly returned with another pitcher.

"Here, try some milk," the Gerudo said kindly, sliding the pitcher over to him.

A few minutes later, the raging firestorm in his mouth had died down somewhat, though his hands were curled possessively around the pitcher, his tongue held firmly beneath the surface of the surprisingly soothing liquid.

Oh sweet pearly mother... he thought. How could I ever stray from your side?

"Here, this will be more your speed, I think," Ayla said, switching her plate with his. He couldn't quite tell what it was, other than some sort of meat with vegetables, but the spices and sauce didn't look nearly as _dangerous_ as the one he'd tried at first. She even had the decency to look a little apologetic. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. It's a prank I always pull on first-timers to this place." She took a big bite of Link's dish, not even wavering. Didn't even break out a sweat, unlike the Hylian who felt positively drenched.

**I hate you,** he signed, finally daring to remove his tongue from the milk. It still stung, but not nearly as bad as before. **So much.**

"As your unofficial, non-blood related big sister-in-law, I take that as a compliment," she replied, smiling innocently back.

Abbas wrinkled his brow. "That was a lot of words I do not understand the structure of," he said. "Sister-in-law?"

"Oh, guess I forgot to tell you," she said. "Remember my little brother?"

"The little Sheikah you forcibly adopted as yours and never shut up about?" Abbas asked. "Yes, I remember him."

"Well, Linky here is his beau, and since they're already married in all but name..."

Abbas' eyes widened, and then a big smile broke out on his face. "Ah, I see! Well, please accept my congratulations!"

Link, meanwhile, was trying not to choke to death on the piece of meat (beef, based on the texture) that had lodged in his throat at the word _married_ , arms flailing a little until he punched himself in the sternum, finally dislodging the piece, coughing.

"Oh, don't be such a man and act scared of commitment," Ayla said with a scoff. "Don't think I haven't noticed your little declarations to each other whenever you think no one can see or hear ya. It's teeth-rottingly cute, and very annoying."

"They sound adorable," Abbas said, still smiling. "Consider yourself lucky, my friend," he told Link. "Not everyone gets to meet their chosen at such a young age."

Chosen? Link thought, laughing inwardly. Yeah, chosen for eternity...or however long we survive without someone killing us. Still, he smiled back at Abbas and nodded his thanks. It was nice to know people were on their side, despite everything.

"Wouldn't be surprised if Kafei and Elenwe's arranged a ceremony and everything by the time we get home," Ayla continued mercilessly, to Link's horror. "Zelda can officiate, I'm sure."

Is she trying to kill me? Link wondered. Dying at the dinner table wasn't his ideal way of going out. The ideal way, in his opinion, was to die peacefully in his sleep, like his grandmother.

Fat chance, he thought. Not in this life.

He offered Ayla another finger gesture, which had her cackling and pounding the table with her fist loudly enough to draw annoyed looked from the other restaurant patrons. She looked a little embarrassed at that, lowering her head as a sign of apology, before rising from her seat.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I do feel the need to visit the powder room," she said. "I'll be right back."

"Don't let the rats get you," Abbas called after her.

An awkward moment of silence descended upon their table after she was gone. Granted, the silence wasn't really voluntary on Link's park, but still... Abbas cleared his throat.

"So..." he began. "You are from Hyrule?"

Link nodded, pulling out his slate and chalk, prepared for this eventuality.

_**Little village called Ordon**_ , he wrote. He didn't let Abbas get another awkward question in, not in the mood for small talk. _**Do you know of a hunter called Mel?**_

Abbas read the slate. He'd probably hoped his reaction to be subtle, if not imperceptible, but Link caught his eyes widening just a fraction. "That name is unfamiliar to me," he said, shrugging. "He a foreigner?"

_**Human**_ , Link wrote. _**Unpleasant personality. We met him on our way to Ravana.**_

"Ah..." The hesitation was clear, and Link knew right then that Abbas was definitely in the know. "I see."

Stalling.

"I am sorry to hear that. I understand your...organisation takes in all sorts, however. Can't be lucky with all of them, I suppose. I hope he did not cause trouble."

_**I was fine; Ayla wasn't.** _

That drew a more obvious reaction, as Abbas' shoulders tensed visibly. He said nothing, however, staring hard at the slate. Link took it as a sign to keep writing.

_**I haven't known Ayla for as long as you, but I've seen her face down monsters without flinching. I have never seen her** _ _**afraid** _ _**before. Mel terrified her.** _

Abbas looked torn, and finally cursed under his breath. "Fucking...damn him," he muttered. "All right, you caught me. I know the man of whom you speak. Or, know _of_ him, I suppose. Never met him, personally, but what Ayla told me about him..."

Link leaned forward, practically straining his ears, not wanting to miss a single detail.

"It's not my place to tell you," Abbas said regretfully. "But...it was something that happened when we were younger. Mel led a street gang here and...well...he took a liking to her..." He shook his head. "I cannot tell you anymore; please do not make me compromise my friendship with her."

Link wanted to press further, but Ayla's scent began to grow stronger. Not wanting to get caught, he simply nodded at Abbas and erased what he'd written on the slate. Just in time to, as the Gerudo slung herself back into her seat moments later, giving them both a confused look.

"You look like someone just stole your sweet roll," she said. "Did I miss something?"

"I told him about Machiavelli," Abbas said.

Her face fell a little as well. "Aw, why did you have to remind me of Machi? I still miss that fucking cat..."

* * *

The dinner had turned into an impromptu wake for Machiavelli the Cat, Scourge of Ravana's mouse population. Ayla kept ordering wine, and then graduated to harder stuff. She even made good on her earlier threat, treating Link and Abbas (and the other restaurant guests) to a selection of the finest sea shanties the Gerudo pirates had to offer. Link made a note to ask Doctor Kaura if his hearing would ever recover, the next time they met.

By the time Abbas decided to call it a night on account of him having to work in the morning, the three of them were too drunk to walk without support. Well, Ayla and Abbas, at least. Link had held back, not really wanting to get too soused in an unfamiliar city.

They handed Abbas over to a passing watch patrol, letting them know his address. Link slipped them a few coins for their trouble, making sure that he got home safely.

"Washmen arn't too bad, long as you pay 'em," Ayla slurred, clutching Link's arm to keep herself upright. "Meet th' right one, and you c'n get awa' with anythin' if you've got th' cash for it." She spat. "I should know."

Link, his hands preoccupied with supporting her, only made a huffing sound in what he hoped was an agreeing tone, guiding them back to their hotel.

"There'd better not be any funny business with her in that state," the woman behind the desk in the lobby said firmly, rolling her Rs like her life depended on it. "The watch is just a shout away!"

Link would've been offended at the implication, but he was too busy thinking about what little information he'd gotten out of Abbas. His tone had been easy enough to decipher, but Link didn't want to make assumptions about what had happened. He wouldn't do that to his friend.

"This my room?" she asked as Link unlocked the door and more or less dragged her inside and placed her on the bed, pulling off her boots and jacket, making her lie down. "Thanks, Wolf," she said, grinning up at him. "Such a gen'leman...Sheiky picked a good'un."

Link huffed, patting her head before making for the door.

"I know you wern't talkin' 'bout Machi." Her voice was muffled by her pillow, and Link had a feeling she had no idea what she was saying.

Link hummed.

"Knew you were talkin' 'bout Mel...that fucker...dunno what Ab told ya...but I'll pound ya both in the mornin', yeah? Stickin' yer nose into my business..."

He hummed again. He deserved a beating for prying, he knew, but he wasn't feeling guilty about it either. All he needed was a reason, and he'd gladly show Mel what it meant to mess with his pack.

"L'nk?"

He paused, waiting.

"Lock th' door? Feels safe..."

He did as she asked, sliding the key back under her door to make sure she managed to get out of the room if she woke up and needed to...well. He'd rather not think about it—the thought of the smell alone was enough to make _him_ want to heave.

Try as he might, he couldn't sleep. The alcohol was making his mind buzz unpleasantly, and his thoughts kept revolving around what little he knew about Mel and his relationship with Ayla. He had an inkling as to what had happened, or the at least the nature of it, but theorising about it felt...wrong. Just like questioning Abbas had, but how else could he learn? How else could he find the source of her fear, and eradicate it?

The Beast growled, displeased with his lack of action. Instinct was trying to tell him that the only _right_ thing to do was to chase Mel down and rip his throat out with his teeth for the mere _act_ of intimidating a member of the pack.

Link's rational mind was, pretty much, of the same opinion, but with the added social restraints of polite society, not to mention the fact that attacking a fellow hunter was likely going to cause a lot more problems than killing Mel would solve. No matter how good it would feel.

As it were, he probably had little choice but to wait until either Mel or Ayla revealed the truth—and he highly doubted the Gerudo would be enlightening one here...and Mel wasn't close enough for a friendly interrogation.

Growling to himself, he tossed and turned on his bed, battling his thoughts until he fell into a restless sleep just as the first light of day began creeping over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Link: The best at making enquiries!**


	13. The Postman

The first thing Jhaan became aware of was the massive headache, centred around her temple, and the nausea that caused her stomach to roil with every movement. There was a fire, but opening her eyes only made the ache worse, so she kept them firmly closed, trying not to throw up.

The second thing she became aware of was the fact that she was sitting on and against something soft and warm. Her backrest rose and fell steadily, like it was breathing. That was unusual, and like she always did when something was off, she felt panic rise in her chest. However, seconds later, The scent of weapon oil, leather, and a slight tinge of sweat invaded her nose, and she realised where she was.

"Mag..." she muttered, gently letting the back of her head rest against the northman's chest, satisfied to hear a hum from him, and one of his large hands came to rest on her thigh, squeezing gently.

"How are you feeling?" Magnus' voice rumbled, sounding tired.

"Like I'm about to puke," she replied with a groan. "Head hurts."

"Probably concussion," Magnus said. "Vamp hit you pretty hard."

The mention of the vampire almost made her jump out of Magnus' lap, but the mere shift of her weight made the world turn, her stomach threatening to turn inside out if she dared to even _think_ about moving any further. She groaned, letting Magnus carefully ease her back against his chest.

"Easy," the northman said. "We're not going anywhere tonight."

"Gotta find him," she said.

"Mmm, but not tonight," Magnus repeated, encircling her waist with his arms, holding her in a loose embrace that got his point across: she wasn't going anywhere. It was a good thing Magnus always made her feel safe rather than restrained. Anyone else might have gotten a dagger in the eye and their throat slit.

"How're you?" she asked, cutting off a treacherous yawn. She'd just been out for gods knew how long—she couldn't fall asleep again, especially not if she had a concussion. A needle of guilt dug into her chest. "Vamp got you good, too..."

"Small headache," the giant said. "Fine otherwise. Axe's ruined."

She tried to open her eyes again, but looking anywhere near the fire was like staring into the sun. She shut them firmly, groaning. "And Reyne? Where is Reyne?"

"Right here, Jhaan," Reyne's voice spoke from some distance away. "I'm fine."

"Looks like he got into a fight with a cat, though," Magnus said, chuckling deeply. "Ended up headfirst in a thorn bush."

"At least I was conscious," Reyne said, his tone sullen, and Jhaan could practically _see_ the pout on his lips. His voice came closer, and the firelight was blocked as Reyne crouched in front of them. "Jhaan, I'm going to touch you now. Is that all right?"

Considerate to a fault. Reyne in a nutshell. She hummed in confirmation, and soon felt Reyne's cold fingers roaming around her head, focusing especially on her temple, where the pain was radiating from. The cold felt heavenly, and she almost nuzzled into the palm of his hand when it gently cupped her cheek.

"Jhaan, can you open your eyes, please?"

"Don't wanna," she said petulantly. "Makes my head hurt."

Reyne made a sympathetic sound. "I know, but you took a pretty bad hit to the head. I need to check for injuries. Won't you please open those pretty rubies for me?"

"Flatterer," she said, slowly forcing her eyelids to part, revealing the blurry sight of Reyne crouching in front of her, his face and visible skin covered in scrapes and small cuts, likely from the thorny bush he'd had an unfortunate encounter with. Other than that, he appeared to be all right, which calmed her down considerably. If either of her boys had been hurt...

"Follow my finger," he said, moving his raised index finger back and forth in front of her face. Doing was uncomfortable, her stomach nearly spasming, but she still managed to do it. "All right, very good," he cooed, leaning closer and pulling her eyelid a little more open.

The tone, coupled with the action, would not have sat well with her normally, but she knew that Reyne was the closest thing they had to a medic on the party, and that he (mostly) knew what he was doing...though his bedside manner needed some work.

"This is going to be unpleasant," he warned her, "but I need to see how your pupils react to light, okay? Just keep your eyes open."

"Just get it over with."

It only took a few seconds, but it might as well have been hours. When Reyne finally moved back to block the firelight directly, she was exhausted, and her head felt like it had a tightly coiled ball of barbed wire slowly spinning around inside her skull, turning her brain to mush.

"You seem fine," Reyne said, touching her cheek again before fuzzing with her temple once more, apologising quietly when she made a hiss of pain. "Headache and nausea might just be because of the hit rather than a concussion, but we should keep you awake for a while, just in case."

She knew that was the smartest thing to do, but it didn't stop her from wanting nothing more than to lie back in Magnus' embrace and sleep the misery away, to put their utter failure away for just a while.

"How long was I out?" she asked, reaching out and tugging Reyne forward so he was resting against her, cheek to cheek. She had to know he was there, that he was all right.

"Not long," he assured her, letting her do as she pleased, more than familiar with her habits at this point. Magnus shifted, and Reyne let out a pleased sound. She couldn't see it, but she knew the northman was caressing the Hylian's neck, like he enjoyed. "Half an hour, maybe less. I have to admit, I was a bit busy trying to get out of the bush. Didn't expect him to be that fast."

"Didn't expect him to be Sheikah," Magnus intoned.

"Told you my suspicion," she said firmly, actually disappointed (and no small amount of horrified) that her hunch had been right. Never, not once, had a Sheikah allowed themselves to succumb to the curse, the disease of vampirism, but that boy (and he was just that, a _boy_ ) had... And apparently, he knew Jhaan. Or recognised her, at least. That was...upsetting. Even worse, she could have sworn she'd seen _his_ face before, too, but not where that might have been.

"Yeah, well," Reyne said haltingly, hesitating. "I thought we were just dealing with an impostor, but when I saw his eyes..."

While not as visible as a regular vampire's amber-coloured stroma, the tiny pinpricks around his pupils had given Not-Juichi's condition away. They'd caught the light of the fire, shining conspicuously. At first, Jhaan had assumed they were some sort of birth defect, but their placement had been too perfect, too symmetric...she hadn't wanted to believe it at first, but her hunch had been correct. And his reaction to having his fake identity exposed...well, there was no mistaking that.

"He recognised you."

Jhaan swallowed. She hadn't wanted to bring that up just yet, but...well, Reyne _had_ been awake for the curt words exchanged before the vampire had knocked her out.

"Apparently," she said non-committally.

"He called you _the girl who didn't yield_...what does that mean?"

Jhaan adjusted her position, resting her forehead against Reyne's shoulder, pulling him a little closer. They must have looked ridiculous from a distance, a Sheikah and a Hylian dog-piling on top of a huge northman, but she really didn't care. Her head hurt too much.

"Just...something from years and years ago," she murmured, wishing she couldn't remember the event in question. There was only one occasion on which the boy could have given her such a (bad) title...and it was one she'd hoped to never have to think about again. "Clan meeting—first one I ever attended. Last one, too."

"What happened?" Magnus asked.

"Joined a sparring match with others in my age group." She tried to block out the memories of the jeers and veiled insults she'd gotten from the other kids—all related to her parentage. She wasn't nearly as good a fighter as they were, but she had stamina and perseverance, and no sense of when to give up. "I got beaten. Badly. But I didn't yield. I guess that vamp was there, too." She tried to remember if she'd seen that boy's face among her opponents that day, but they were too blurred by time for her to picture them clearly. She'd been too busy memorising their words, their voices, their insults... "Not sure who he is, though. Young, but that's no indication of his true age."

"He said he could have killed us, but chose not to," Reyne said, pulling away and taking the comforting shade with him, but soon returned with a water-skin, tipping it against Jhaan's lips. She drank deeply, unaware of how thirsty she'd been. Her stomach wasn't happy about it, but she forced it to calm down. "Didn't really strike me as something an _old_ vamp would say, you know?"

"If the reports are true and he's recent..." Magnus murmured.

"Then he's really just a kid, still," Jhaan finished. She wanted to groan. Of course he was just a boy, of all things, and very likely a relative of some sort if he'd been at the clan meeting. "And I've no idea who he...wait..." she trailed off, the realisation slowly dawning, her horror mounting with every second. "No..."

"What?" Reyne asked. "Jhaan, what's wrong?"

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. If that...that abomination really was...

Opening her eyes and ignoring the flaring ache in her head, she looked at Reyne. "I think I know who he is."

* * *

The rain had fallen for two days straight, now, and Thomas Carlyle could with certainty say that he would not miss the town of Felhearth. Whereas the streets had been traversable (if somewhat crowded and busy) when dry, the rain had turned them into a muddy marsh that had tried (and sometimes succeeded) to eat his shoes. His suit was, more or less, a complete loss—covered in coal dust and mud, and by virtue of being his _only_ suit, drenched in sweat.

It was a relief when the stagecoach finally rolled into town, unloading a group of dour-looking merchants, bringing wares to their stores in town.

Getting a ticket on the coach had been a struggle at first. Because of the cancellation of all train departures for "maintenance reasons", the number of people who tried to purchase a ticket on the coach had apparently quadrupled. Not surprising, being the only mode of transportation out of town, but it still caused unnecessary problems.

He was loath to employ that particular weapon, but Thomas had been forced to resort to bribery, in the end, shoving an outrageous amount of money into the ticket seller's pocket to let him have one of the remaining tickets. A fight had broken out in the office, and he'd gotten out of there safely, albeit with a black eye.

He climbed into the coach and squeezed himself into his seat by the window, aware that he was likely going to spend the entire trip being slowly crushed to death by the enormously fat businessman to his left. The man occasionally threw a glare in Thomas' direction, as if accusing him of taking up more space than necessary, which was so hypocritical it made Thomas want to laugh.

The driver announced their departure, cracking the whip loudly, and the coach slowly began to move out of the station's courtyard. Thomas couldn't wait until the town was out of his sight, never intending to set foot here again. A proxy could resolve the monster problem along the train's route. Anything to avoid having to come back...or run into Juichi again. He couldn't take the humiliation.

All he hoped was that the young man had made it safely to his family. Perhaps he'd joined up with that other Sheikah—she'd certainly seemed capable.

Trying to ignore the sensation of his ribcage slowly being compressed by the fat man's weight, like a cheap version of a corset, Thomas had every intention of sleeping the trip away, but movement outside the window caught his attention, and he realised that someone was running alongside the coach, reaching out to bang against the side of it. His eyes caught theirs, and a flash of red had his heart give an unexpected lurch.

Before he realised it, he was knocking on the back of the coach, yelling, "Driver! Stop the coach!"

"For her?" the businessman said, glaring at Thomas. "She's a savage!"

Thomas ignored him, continuing to knock until the coach finally slowed down, letting Jhaan come to a stop next to the window. After catching her breath, she climbed onto the steps, leaning into the coach. Thomas nearly gasped when he saw the ugly bruise that covered most of the side of her head, creeping underneath the stubble of her silvery-blonde hair.

"Pardon the intrusion," she said. "But I have a pair of letters I need sent to Hyrule and Ravana. Would anyone here be so kind as to take them to the nearest post office for me?"

None of the other passengers seemed interested, several not even looking at her. Thomas wanted to yell at them for being idiots.

"Please?" she tried. "I can pay you for your trouble."

Ashamed of the others, Thomas cleared his throat. "I'll take them," he offered.

Her eyes landed on him, a small grin breaking out on her face. "Ah, Tom, good to see you again. Finally leaving, are you?"

"I am," he said with a nod. "And you have some letters?"

"Oh, yeah," she handed him a pair of envelopes, the addresses and names written in a very delicate script, both sealed with a symbol he'd never seen before. "One's for the Company of the Wolf in Hyrule, and the other is for the Wings of Defiance in Ravana. They're mercenary companies. Send them a letter of your own, and they will reimburse you for the costs."

He put them safely in his briefcase, nodding. "I'll make sure they're sent by express." He couldn't help but wonder, however, why she would be trying to contact mercenaries.

"Thanks, Tom, you're a lifesaver," she said, giving him a nod. She gave the rest of the passengers an apologetic look that bordered on cheeky. "Sorry to interrupt your trip, folks." She made to climb off the coach, but Thomas stopped her.

"Wait! Did you find Juichi?" he asked. He just wanted to know the boy had made it off safely...

It was brief, barely lasting a tenth of a second, but he caught her grimace before it was covered up by a smile so fake it could have shattered glass. "Oh, we did, yeah," she said. "He's all right, don't worry. I really have to go, though. Make sure those letters get where they need, all right?"

"I will."

And then she was gone, and the businessman knocked on the coach wall to get it moving again, giving Thomas another distasteful look. "Associating with savages..." he muttered.

I'd rather associate with them than the likes of _you_ , Thomas thought, shifting until he was somewhat comfortable while also making sure his elbow was digging into the man's ribs. If I have to be uncomfortable, he thought, then so will you.

Thomas had never considered himself a petty man, but he was more than willing to indulge in a little revenge.

Sleep never found him, however, as his mind kept returning to Jhaan's grimace as she'd spoken of Juichi, and what it could mean. He hadn't been able to guess what it meant, other than it being something unpleasant. Had there been a fight, perhaps? Maybe they just didn't like each other?

He'd get the letters sent at the next town with a postal service...and then he'd go meet Cora. After the inevitable lecture and chewing out he'd receive from her, he'd tell her what he planned next. It would probably result in another lecture, but then what was a lecture compared to the wellbeing of a friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sure Tom, _friend_...**
> 
> **Also, FF.net can bite my ass. What a terrible site... (I say, while still using it)**


	14. A Fortuitous Encounter

At some point, he must have passed out. He knew this, because he could in no way recall ever thinking that going to sleep face-down in a wide-open clearing, exposed to the elements, fauna, and random passers-by on the road at the end of it, was a good idea. Granted, it wasn't a big road—more an access path for the wood cutters who had...well, _cleared_ the aforementioned clearing.

Sitting up took three attempts, his ribs still aching, and it was with a groan that he realised he must have slept through the day, if only because of how raw and tight the skin of his right cheek (the only part of him that had been exposed to the sun) felt. If he had a mirror, he was sure he'd find the flesh there covered in the worst sort of sunburn.

Another thing the myths got wrong—direct exposure to the sun would certainly hurt and, eventually, kill a vampire, but nowhere near as fast as the stories, where even a single ray would have the evil leech burst into flames like a demon crossing a temple threshold.

Luckily, the sun had already set, only the pink tinge to the sky and clouds betraying its passage. An unpleasant wind had begun to blow, and Sheik was glad he couldn't feel the chill in it too much, but at least the rain had stopped at some point, and the sun had dried his clothes during the day. That improved his mood a little, despite his injuries and the hollow feeling of his guts...until he realised something, which prompted the question currently burning in his mind.

_Where the_ hell _am I?!_

His memories of the night before were all fuzzy, the only thing he could remember with any sort of clarity being the encounter with the party of hunters, and...ah...

He looked at his left arm, which he'd done his best to wrap up after digging the bullet out with his bare fingers. Washing it in a stream had probably not been the best way to clean the wound, but it was all he'd had at the time. He carefully replaced it in the makeshift sling he'd made out of the remains of one of his shirts, hoping he'd find a town nearby, with medical supplies so he could at least clean and wrap up the wound properly. Vampire or no, he doubted walking around with an open wound was a good idea.

And those hunters...

_Jhaan, Reyne and...Magnus, was it_?

He wanted to beat himself for his own stupidity in that farce. He'd thought, at first, that lighting the fire was a mistake. The rational part of his mind had certainly given him an earful. But old habits and his own personal desire for comfort had won out...and look where that had gotten him. Nearly killed by his own blood.

There was no doubt the Sheikah woman was a relative. She wouldn't have been present at the clan meeting if she weren't, but that was about the extent to Sheik's knowledge of her. Granted, he wasn't all that familiar with his extended family—he'd always reported directly to Impa, and the other hunters at the Studio (as well as Zelda) had filled in for the rest of the clan. When he made it home, he'd have Kafei look her up. He'd have to attend another meeting soon anyway, to be acknowledged by the elders as the new Half-Sun leader.

He looked up at the sky again, trying to guess the sun's position based on what little light remained. If he could figure out the compass directions, at least he'd know which way to go, even if he had no idea where he was in the world right now.

_Eugh, no idea,_ he thought after a minute of increasingly frustrated glaring at the sky. _Doesn't matter, I suppose. Only one way to go, really._

The access road was lined by trees on both sides, the middle of it a muddy mess, scored by dozens of boot tracks and dragged tree logs. If nothing else, that proved he was somewhere that was still travelled by people, rather than the middle of the wilderness.

Every step took more effort than it should have. His hunger was making itself known as more than just a perpetual dry feeling in his mouth. It was actively sapping his strength, now, and even if he'd just slept the entire day away like an idiot, he still wouldn't mind having a lie-down.

_Pathetic,_ he thought. _Some hunter I am...couldn't even scrounge up a rat like this..._

In the back of his head, a constant worry that the hunters were still on his tail kept niggling at him as well. In hindsight, killing them would have been the safer option. No one would be alive to reveal to the hunters at large that a Sheikah had been turned, wouldn't paint a giant target on his back.

_I really should have killed them..._

Misplaced loyalty. It was hard to get rid of—he'd always been a hunter, and he'd imagined he'd always _be_ a hunter, even unofficially...but that had been naïve, hadn't it? His friends and family at the Sanctuary might not have minded his...condition, but the rest of the hunters certainly would. He'd never be accepted.

Even so, he found he could not muster any sort of killing intent, not even against those who'd tried to kill _him_ the night before. They were only acting on what they'd been taught, what they'd been taught to fear.

_Did they know, though, who or what I was? Or was it just a coincidence? Did_ she _realise who I was, based on what I said?_

Lost in thought and numbed by pain, he didn't realise that the last light of the day disappeared, and he was walking through the woods in pitch black darkness. The mud sucked at his boots, threw him off-balance. More than once did he find himself on his knees in the road, blinking in confusion when his ribs were suddenly burning at the sudden movement of his fall.

Only when he heard muted voices in the distance and smelled cooking meat in the air did his consciousness return to the waking world, and he realised how exposed he was. Several piles of lumber had been stacked up alongside the road, and a cart stood nearby. The lights of a camp could be seen among the trees, and Sheik knew he'd found the lumberjacks.

He turned off the road, creeping closer to the camp under the covers of the trees and bushes around him. A camp meant people, and people meant supplies. He'd lost most of his thanks to Jhaan and the others...and perhaps there would be something he could...could eat. Chickens, or pigs, or...or...

It was a strange quirk of his mind, deciding that he'd have no trouble drinking the blood of a chicken or a pig, but balking at the idea of draining a horse. He understood it with sapient beings like people, but that was also because of his sense of morals (what little he had left, at least).

Then again, maybe he wouldn't have to. If the men at the camp were cooking meat, surely they had animals meant for slaughter? These people spent weeks—months, even!—in the woods, chopping down trees. They had to get their food fresh somehow!

So he decided to wait. There were at least a dozen men in the camp, plus a few already sleeping in the tents. As soon as everyone was asleep, he'd sneak in and find something of use, whether it was supplies or food. It nearly filled him with shame, knowing he was living up to the ugly rumours about his people being thieves and criminals and gods knew what else, but...the hunger was too difficult to ignore now. His body had no hope of repairing the damage done to it on its own without sustenance.

He must have dozed off again, at some point, because suddenly the camp went silent save for the sounds of breathing coming from the tents. His trousers had soaked through from sitting on the still-wet forest floor, and the muscles of his torso had stiffened because of the uncomfortable position. He thanked his lucky stars the lumberjacks weren't a routined lot—surely a perimeter sweep would have revealed his presence.

Deciding he had no time to waste, Sheik left his pack in his hiding spot and slowly crept into the camp, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the light of the lamps, lit to keep wildlife away. The camp had clearly been here for a while, based on the amount of rubbish and various conveniences the men had clearly built. He steered clear of the ramshackle outhouses, though—he doubted his nose would survive such an encounter. The mixed smells of unwashed bodies, food both cooked and rotten, alcohol and old vomit were bad enough.

A cursory search of the open part of the camp revealed nothing but old scraps, to his disappointment. There were horses in a stable-like shack near the opening to what appeared to be a larger road, but he wouldn't touch them unless he had no other choice. Plus, the sheer noise it'd create would surely rouse the camp. If he were weak after the encounter with the green men, he was absolutely feeble after fighting Jhaan's party.

He'd have to start searching the tents at this rate, but they weren't large, and just one tiny mistake would result in a catastrophic mess he wasn't sure he could handle right now.

He spotted a slightly larger tent at the centre of the tent rows, and his stomach roiled with hunger at the sight of blood splatters visible on the once-white canvas of it. A large pot in a fire pit at the front suggested it was the cook's tent.

_Surely there will be_ something _in there!_

To his disappointment, he found only dead chickens, already bled, and one sleeping cook, snoring loudly on his cot. There was plenty of food for mortals, but none that would do Sheik any good.

_Damn...guess I'll have to try...try..._

His thoughts trailed off completely as he stepped closer to the cot and caught a scent he couldn't place...other than it being absolutely heavenly. Sniffing at the air, he took another few steps closer, curiously gazing at the sleeping cook, trying to figure out where the scent was coming from.

_Irony...with...oh...oh no!_

Before he knew what he was doing, he leaning over the cook, his knee resting on the side of the cot, staring down at the exposed neck of the man. Tattooed and not very familiar with the concept of personal hygiene, the thought of biting into that neck was repulsive...and irresistible. Sheik's fangs were already out, and he felt himself, to his shame, drooling.

_Just a little bite,_ he thought. _To keep me going. He'll feel good after a while anyway...might even fall back asleep, thinking it's a dream...gods, he stinks...but it smells so good..._

It was the same way he'd felt when straddling Jhaan. He could almost hear the beating of his heart, see the veins on his neck pulsating with the rush of blood...but now he found it almost impossible to stop...

_This is fine...I'm doing it to survive, that's it...that's it...Link would understand...wouldn't he?_

He could have told himself it was a bad idea over and over until the end times, and he _still_ would have convinced himself it was all right. But the thought of Link's disappointment, the face his lover would make when Sheik told him of what he'd done... _that_ was unbearable.

_He thinks I'm better than this..._ knows _I'm better than this..._

His mouth was inches from the man's neck, leaning over him like a lover, like he was about to kiss him. No...Link wouldn't approve of this...they were monsters, but they were _better_ than their instincts.

_No!_

Sheik slowly pulled himself back from the brink, pulling away from the cot at the same time, trying to keep his unsteady breathing calm. This was...bad, but he'd managed to stop himself just in time. Letting his fangs flick back into place, he breathed out and eased himself off the cot.

The man shifted, and his eyes opened. The moment seemed to last for an eternity before they widened, and he opened his mouth with a bellow.

"Thief! Thief! Wake up, we're being robbed!"

Sheik lashed out, punching the man in the face just too late to stop him from crying out. He was out cold, but the rest of the camp had woken up, men crying to each other to catch the intruder. Panicking, Sheik burst out of the tent and ran directly into the barrel chest of a dazed-looking logger. Both cried out at the impact, and the man's arms came down, clumsily trying to catch him. Sheik darted out of his reach, instinctively reaching for a dagger but forcing himself not to. He wasn't trying to kill anyone— _didn't_ want to kill anyone!

_Have to run, run, run! How many fucking woodcutters are there in this camp?!_

Wherever he turned or ran there was a big, burly bastard waiting for him, blocking his path. Opponents he had no chance of taking on in his weakened state, and he wasn't fast enough to keep running forever. His ribs ached, his head feeling like cotton. Where was the edge of the camp, where was—

He was surrounded—the men had forced him into a circle that was rapidly closing in on him. Trapped, like an animal. Like a beast. A monster. He growled and drew his dagger, hoping he wouldn't have to use it.

"Stay away from me!" he snapped, to which the men only reacted with laughter, some brandishing axes bigger than him.

"Would you look at this?" one of the loggers said, a huge beard obscuring most of his face, though his lips were locked in a disgusting sneer that was missing several teeth. "A little savage brat come in to steal from us!"

The men laughed more.

"Even brought his butter knife," he continued, staring at the dagger in Sheik's hand. He looked unconcerned...but Sheik knew his knife was sharp enough to cut his throat wide open with a single swipe. "How's Chef?" he asked to no one in particular.

"Little nomad knocked 'im out, chief!"

"How rude," the supposed _chief_ said between the gaps in his teeth. "How're you going to repay us for _that_ , boy?"

Sheik glared. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to hurt, but I was desperate. Let me go, and we can just...forget about this, right?"

Chief shook his head. "You come into _our_ camp trying to steal _our_ shit, knock _our_ cook out, and you're asking us to just forget about it? That ain't how the world works, son. You gotta make this right. Got any ideas?" When Sheik said nothing, he looked at his men. "Anyone else?"

"Put him to work!" someone said, their tone lecherous. There were agreeing murmurs and chuckles. "Honest job for the savage! It's all they're good for!"

"You'd scrub up well, I think," the chief said, looking Sheik over like he was a connoisseur of some disgusting sort. "Ain't seen a woman in weeks...guess you'd do for a little while at least."

"Fuck you!" Sheik snarled, his patience snapping as he lunged at the man, aiming to stab him right in the gut, but he moved with surprising speed, grabbing Sheik's wrist and twisting his arm behind his back, forcing him down to his knees.

He tried to struggle, but he was too weak, too hungry, to put up much of a fight, his body sapped of strength. The stink of the man invaded his nose, sour and stale. Around him, the other men were closing in, grinning and spouting all sorts of insults at him, usually to the theme of what he'd do for a taste of their...well...

Sheik was furious with himself, vision fogging up a little.

_I am such a fucking idiot! Goddamn useless piece of shit...should have died in the sewers! Hah, look at this goddamn mess..._

A hand was cupping his chin, squeezing the sides of his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth.

"Got a nice set o' teeth," one of the men said. "Could sell 'em for a pretty penny—he won't need 'em with his new job!" The idea was met with more agreeing words and amused guffaws.

Humiliation burning, Sheik did the only thing he could at that moment. He clenched the muscles in the roof of his mouth, the same ones that had taken weeks for him to learn to control...and let his fangs slot into place.

The effect was immediate. The man inspecting his teeth gave a surprised cry and sprang back, pointing at him with wide eyes. "M-monster!"

The chief tightened his hold on Sheik's arm, which felt like it was about to break, while someone else took hold of his other arm, wrenching it out of the sling and causing him to cry out.

"Eh? What're those gnashers for, then?" the chief asked, chuckling at the way Sheik's eyes had clouded over with pain. "Some sort of wood sprite, are we?" He squeezed Sheik's wrist until he lost his grip on the dagger, picking it up and brushing the flat of the blade against Sheik's throat. "Always knew somethin' was wrong with you savages..." He put the edge to Sheik's skin, and he felt it cut through it like paper. "Any last words?"

"Kill the freak!"

"Slit him open!"

The calls to kill him were deafening, and Sheik felt resistance leaving his body more and more for every second that passed. He couldn't fight back, and his teeth hadn't provided the distraction he'd needed...at least he wasn't about to be murdered by his grandmother's kukri, which he'd left safely in his pack. Better it stay there, lost to the ages, than wind up in these bastards' hands...

"Pity," the chief said. "You'd have made a good whore—hrgh!"

His words were cut off as a crossbow bolt suddenly exploded out of his throat. He released both Sheik and his dagger, grabbing at the piece of metal jutting out of his body, mouth opening and closing uselessly, his voice reduced to a whisper-like whistle emanating from the hole in his neck. He pitched forward, landing next to Sheik in the dirt, movements slowing.

The rest of the camp was in a panic.

"He's not alone!"

"Where are they?!"

"Get your rifles, get your—argh!"

Sheik's vision was swimming, barely able to make out the shapes around him. Shadows were moving among the wood cutters, knives and swords flashing in the lantern lights as they mercilessly cut the men down like they were trees. A pool of blood was slowly growing beneath the chief's twitching body, the smell of his blood...intoxicating...

Sheik could no more hold himself back than he could stop a moving train. He crept over to the body, turning it over and ripping the bolt out of its neck, placing his mouth over the wound, lapping and sucking at it, trying to get as much of the life-giving fluid out of it as possible.

Bliss. Utter bliss. It was like a mist had been obscuring his mind, and when it lifted he could see everything clearly again. The pain of his body lessened a little, a warmth spreading through his limbs.

The man was nearly dry, and Sheik growled, shoving the body away and starting to lap at the pool beneath it, paying no heed to the dirt and mud he was consuming at the same time. He paid the silence around him no heed, and only became aware of a pair of boots in front of him when there was no more blood on the ground. He looked up, seeing the kindly looking face of a middle-aged woman with impossibly red hair staring down at him with a pitying expression.

"Gods, what have they done to you?" she asked, crouching down to get a better look at him. Her eyes shone amber in the dark. Around her, the shadows, now revealed to be men wearing black uniforms and black masks, all armed with a variety of cutting weapons, standing at attention. She reached out and placed a cool hand on Sheik's cheek, stroking it gently. "Lord Sheik?" she asked.

"You...know me?" Sheik managed to force out, his mouth full of...unspeakable things. "How?"

"I could smell you from miles away," she said, frowning at the state of him. "And who else would you be? When I heard them...I'm sorry, but I had no choice but to order my men to attack."

"Who...?"

"My name is Ise," she said, brushing some of her fiery red hair back. "Of Lumina," she added when there was no recognition to be had from the Sheikah. She frowned. "You poor thing, you must be starving. Why haven't you fed?"

"Haven't...been able...to..." Sheik slurred, his eyes closing involuntarily. The excitement of the night, his starvation, and exhaustion were taking their toll, and he felt his consciousness slipping away once more...

* * *

Ise watched as Emory's heir finally succumbed to his injuries and hunger, passing out in the mud, where he'd been lapping at the bloody runoffs seconds before. Gods knew what the young creature had been through, but it had clearly been a harrowing experience. Standing up, she snapped her fingers.

"Take him to the carriage—and be careful with him, for pity's sake!" she snapped, watching as two of her men picked Lord Sheik out of the mud and carried him out of the camp, back towards the main road.

It was mere luck she'd caught the scent of an unknown vampire on their way past, and had ordered a stop. Even luckier, still, that they'd managed to get there just in time to prevent the young vampire's execution.

"Have Lahr take a look at him," she ordered another man. "His wounds need cleaning."

"Yes, my lady," the man replied, taking off after the ones carrying the Sheikah.

The rest of her men were spreading out again, looking through the camp for stragglers. From the cooking tent, someone cried out, but it was cut off a moment later.

Ise didn't consider herself a particularly vengeful or malignant creature. She had her skeletons in the closet, true, but only ones that had been necessary. She didn't kill very often—but she felt no guilt for ordering the deaths of every man in this camp. The things they'd said...she'd have done the same for anyone, not just a fellow vampire.

Stealthy footsteps at her right, and she turned to the blonde human woman who'd appeared from the shadows, her eyes amber as well.

"Anything?" Ise asked.

"His things," she replied, handing Ise what appeared to be Lord Sheik's travelling gear. A couple of books, some ripped spare clothing, a pair of pistols, and a wicked-looking knife that appeared to be curved forward. The sort Emory had liked to use. A... _kukri_ , she seemed to recall.

"Thank you, Anna," Ise said, smiling at her protégé. "Was there anything else?"

"No," Anna replied, frowning. "He seems to have travelled very light."

"Too light," Ise said, glaring at the dead men at their feet. "You heard what they intended before trying to kill him?"

"I did. I agree with this decision."

"Good." Ise turned back towards the road. "I'll head back to the carriage. Make this—"she gestured at the camp around them"—look like a bandit attack, will you? Steal some valuables. Can't have the hunters find this and track us down."

"As you wish, my lady." Anna bowed low, then turned around and began ordering the men about, following her orders.

Ise smiled again. She'd chosen well, with this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **It's never not a good time for more OCs, right? It's like a sickness!**
> 
> **Ise is actually from Soul Remnants, a previous Zelda fic of mine that I haven't imported to AO3. Granted, she wasn't a vampire in that one, but still!**


	15. The Atelier

Link was no stranger to exercise. Working on the farm had kept him occupied with a seemingly never-ending set of tasks, all of whom needed doing immediately, and needed doing again when he was finished. Exhaustion had been a constant, and he'd never felt the fulfilment and satisfaction his father and everyone else in the village seemed to experience after a long day of back-breaking work. It seemed a bit pointless to him, since he knew everything would just repeat the day after. That lack of fulfilment had been quite a contributing factor in Link's desire to become a hunter.

That said, he'd take the lack of fulfilment and regular exhaustion over the absolute devastation the seven thousand steps up the mountainside above Ravana caused. He was panting and sweating, legs shaking from the exertion, barely able to remain standing by the time he reached the plateau on which the Atelier was built. He had no time to enjoy the accomplishment, however, as he was too busy trying to suck up as much air as he possibly could, his lungs still burning.

Next to him, Ayla didn't appear to be doing much better. She was kneeling on the dusty, gravel-covered ground, paying no heed to the reddish stains it'd leave on her knees, rubbing her thigh where a would-be mugger had shot her half a year before, also panting.

Their clothes weren't much help either. Adapted from the watch uniforms in the city below, they did little to alleviate the heat of Ravana's climate due to the thicker fabric. Abbas had done his best to keep them comfortable, but there were limits to how professional one could look while wearing outfits one could see through.

"I...swear..." Ayla said between breaths. "That is...the last time...I walk...up here..."

Link didn't have the energy to sign his agreement, so he simply made one of his exhales a little higher-pitched, hoping she'd get the message.

It took them about five minutes before either was able to think or speak coherently without sounding like an octogenarian with wet lungs, at which point Link was finally greeted with the breath-taking (damn it!) view of Ravana sprawling out beneath them. Like this, the people and buildings were tiny, but the city itself just kept going and going, spreading outwards, covering every bit of available land that wasn't half-drowned by the ocean or used for farming.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Ayla said, leaning against the railing that had been set up along the edges of the plateau, specifically to stop idiots like them from falling over. Presumably, the people living the houses below were tired of cleaning the splattered remains of unwary tourists off their roofs. "And it just keeps growing."

The mountain that towered over the city of Ravana was named The Giant's Seat, on account of its appearance from a distance, which was quite like a chair. A large, flat part jutted out from its base, which was the seat, while the rest of the rock continued upwards, forming the back. Nestled against this "back", was the Atelier. The sight of it almost made Link gasp.

Where the Studio had been a small, ramshackle old fortress (previously a monastery) that was definitely past its prime, just about ready to collapse on its own without the help of Impa blowing it to hell and back, the Atelier was a magnificent palace.

Elegant stonework and stained glass covered every surface, causing it to catch the light in hundreds of brilliant, dazzling ways. The towers were open-roofed, through which green trees and other plants appeared to grow, reaching for the skies. The paving stones were marble, some inlaid with gold and silver leaf in branching and spiralling designs. The gates and walls were full of murals, depicting events both celestial and mundane; all magnificent.

A massive tower rose from inside the walls, the top shining like a diamond as it caught the sunlight, nearly blinding him when he looked at it for too long.

"Not bad, huh?" Ayla asked as she led him up the stairs to the main gate, which was flung open with only a pair of guards there to confirm their identities. "Used to be the Imperial Palace, back when Ravana was still a major power. Didn't work out for 'em in the end, unfortunately, but it sure benefitted us a few hundred years later!" She presented their summons to the guards, who were dressed in uniforms much like themselves, and were nodded inside.

The inner courtyard was absolutely massive, dwarfing that of the Studio. Link was actually quite sure the entirety of the Studio would have fit in the Atelier's courtyard, with more than enough space left for a field or two. There was even an artificial river, running through the space in lazy zig-zags, teeming with fish and other animals, ending in a pond near what appeared to be the main keep.

And there was so much green! Trees and open spaces with grass everywhere, bushes and hedges shaped into animals and objects. Several gazebos took up the western side of the courtyard, where they had the morning sun, beautifully carved pillars providing its occupants with just enough shade to make their workspace absolutely perfect.

And there were hunters. All over. Of every race. Just in the courtyard alone Link was sure he could have counted and reached a few hundred, if not more. There were more Sheikah than he'd ever seen in one place, too, which was...nice. It made him wonder why Sheik didn't like coming here, since it meant being around more of his kind. Perhaps _that_ was the reason?

Some of the hunters were training, sparring in the rings and fields set up for melee and ranged combat. Others were studying at the tables in the gazebos, or resting in the shade of the trees. Some were even just lounging on the grass, taking in the morning sun or talking in small groups, laughing and arguing about everything and nothing.

"Visitors are usually turned away at the doors," Ayla explained as they took their time crossing the courtyard, evidently heading for the largest set of doors in the keep. Even from this distance, Link could tell it was covered in more gold and silver leaf. He'd have to make sure not to touch anything with his bare skin...or at least watch where he was going. "But they do catch a glimpse of what must be the most relaxed _mercenary company_ in the world." She snickered. "The Wings of Defiance. That's our cover identity in this part of the world."

**How did we end up with a palace at our disposal?** Link signed, barely able to keep up with her on account of stopping to look at just about everything. He'd thought Zelda's palace was opulent, but that was practically spartan compared to this place. **Did we steal it?**

She snorted. "Nah, though that would have been a cool story. I'm not entirely sure about the details around it, but evidently some hunters saved the city from a plague or something a century ago, and the ruling body of councillors were so happy that they gave us the use of it. It had stood empty after the fall of the empire anyway, with no one being able to afford the upkeep, and we were more than happy to take it off their hands. We even revealed our true nature to them, and so our mercenary cover story took form. We're allowed to stay, provided we help keep Ravana free of beasts and other scum. And I daresay we've done a fine job of it so far."

**There are so many hunters here,** Link signed absently as he paused to stare at a curious sight. A cat was playing with a young Sheikah boy, seemingly locked in a duel of who could be the most graceful in chasing each other around. Never mind that he'd never seen a cat engaged in such play before; it was moving at a speed he couldn't keep up with, and its back seemed to grow and shrink. He squinted, cursing the Beast for making his eyesight worse, wishing he could go closer.

Then the cat jumped...and remained airborne. The Sheikah shrieked with delight, doing his best to chase after the animal, but it simply continued gliding through the air, staying just out of the boy's reach. Rubbing his eyes, Link walked a little closer, trying to make out what was wrong with the animal's back and...his jaw dropped open.

Wings! The cat had wings! Covered in grey, striped feathers that matched its fur perfectly. It gave a mighty beat of them, and it rose a few feet higher in the air, gracefully ensuring that its playmate was just out of reach before finally growing tired and tucking the wings against his body, dropping out of the air to be caught by the child, who cradled it tightly against his body.

"Flywacket."

Link blinked, turning to Ayla, who was standing next to him and observing the play, grinning. His look must have been enough to convey his confusion.

"The cat," she explained, gesturing towards the pair. Now the boy was the one being chased, the animal diving at him from the air, its paws batting at him. He was doing an admirable job of dodging the strikes, laughing all the while. "It's called a flywacket. Winged felines native to these parts. Or were, at any rate. Endangered now. They're considered beasts, but generally benign unless they feel trapped or you threaten their young. The council wanted them gone, so we've made a home for them here, where we can keep an eye on them. Last I checked, there were about fifty or sixty breeding pairs hanging around here. Not sure how we manage to keep them from escaping—guess the home we provide is good enough, or something."

Link nodded as he watched, unable to tear his eyes off the strange-yet-normal-looking animal. He'd always liked cats. It was easier to make friends with them than any of the other villagers. His mother had even talked about letting him adopt one of the next litter's kittens... A strange desire was growing in the pit of his stomach, however, and it made it difficult to keep his feet still.

"You all right?" Ayla asked, noticing his fidgeting.

**I want to chase it,** Link signed, unable to even look at her as she began laughing. He couldn't help the desire to join the boy in running after the damn thing.

"Hah, I knew it!" she said with a grin, leaning in close to whisper, "You're just a big dog, aren't you?"

He punched her in the shoulder, which only made her laugh harder. **Don't we have an appointment?** he signed, turning towards the doors, ignoring the fact that the child and cat were both regarding him with curious looks at this point. How on earth a damn _cat_ could be that expressive even from this distance, he had no idea, but it _was_!

If the outside of the Atelier was impressive, the inside was even more so. Link didn't know much (nothing, really) about the history of the Imperial Ravana, but its emperor or empress had certainly felt no trepidation at spending their coffers on building the place. More marble, more gold, more silver. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling of the main hall, where hundreds more hunters were going about their daily business, going back and forth, entering and exiting through dozens of doors, large and small, along the walls. Climbing the winding stairs, the palace at least ten stories in height. On the ceiling, another mural. Depicting what must have been the founding of the empire, with a woman wearing a crown seemingly made out of the sun itself.

"They had high and mighty thoughts about themselves, and worshipped some sun deity," Ayla said, raising her voice to be heard over the din of voices and footsteps that echoed through the hall. "Empress Helene, the fourth of them, was even named after their god. That's her on the ceiling."

**What happened to her?** Link's signs were nearly lost in the tight press of the crowd, but she caught them, luckily.

"Murdered in her sleep by a jealous lover, or something like that," Ayla said dismissively. "Empire collapsed shortly after. Not sure if it was her death that did it, or it was just the final nail after a long period of decline. Doesn't matter, really."

"So," she continued, gesturing towards the various doors and staircases, "you're bound to get lost if you wander off, so I suggest you stick with me for now, but just for the basics: barracks are up those stairs and through those doors—second through fifth floors are reserved for dormitories. Library's through those doors, artificers, blacksmiths and general workshops through there..."

She rattled off so many facilities and functions Link had no way of keeping up with her, and simply chose to nod along. Hopefully she had no plans of setting him loose alone in here. He could probably find her based on scent (even though it'd probably give him a headache, trying to sort through the sheer chaos of smells in here), but if he had to find a specific place? No, just no.

"We're heading straight forward and up the spiral staircase there, up into the tower," she said, pointing to the longest set of stairs Link had ever seen indoors. They stretched from the ground floor all the way up to what appeared to be the solar chamber at the very top of highest tower. His legs gave a twinge of displeasure at the prospect.

"I know, I know," she said in a sympathetic voice. "But if Master Terra manages that climb every day, so can we."

**I'd like to see him do it after first climbing the seven thousand,** Link signed grumpily.

"You can challenge him!"

He said nothing more as they climbed ten stories, his only solace being Ayla's increase in breathing that mirrored his own. The stairs were nice and broad, at least, unlike the stone steps up the mountainside. More than once they met a descending hunter or two, nodding their hellos, to which they received sympathetic glances in return. Once again Link became aware of just how many Sheikah there were here...and then felt guilty about it because he had feeling it was one of those things one was _not_ supposed to notice if one wanted to be considered non-prejudiced...or something. His brain was operating on minimal oxygen and it was hard to keep up.

At the top was an impressive set of white-painted doors, next to which a single desk stood. A woman (Sheikah, too!) was sitting behind it, fiddling with a typewriter that looked close to falling apart. She pretended not to notice the two of them until they'd caught their breaths once more. Once they'd pulled themselves together, however, she was looking at them with a subdued smile.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Senior Hunter Ayla and Hunter Link of the Sanctuary, here to see Master Terra," Ayla said, handing her the summons. "He's expecting us."

"Ah, yes," she replied. "Master's current meeting is running a little longer than expected. Please, have a seat while you're waiting. Can't have you passing out in the meantime." She pointed to a single bench by her desk. No cushions.

"Does he have a suggestion box?" Ayla asked as she sat down, grimacing at the hard surface beneath her buttocks. "I'd like to suggest moving his office downstairs. And better seating options."

"He will take it into consideration, I'm sure."

Link had trouble deciding whether the woman's tone was mocking or not, and decided not to consider it further when she flashed him a wolfish grin that made the Beast itself whine a little. Not one to be trifled with, that.

Sitting next to Ayla, Link let his breathing calm down. He could hear voices on the other side of the doors. Loud, raised ones. He couldn't make out the words, unfortunately. It went on for at least another ten minutes, a continuous drone of competing voices with seemingly no end in sight, when finally a hitherto unheard voice rose above the din, silencing the others. The volume dropped, and Link couldn't hear anymore, and then the doors opened, light flooding out like a dam had burst.

Out marched a group of what appeared to be senior hunters of various races, covered in scars and other marks of long careers hunting beasts. There was even a zora, though her scales were red instead of pale blue like the ones Link's father had told him about. None of them spared him or Ayla a glance, already beginning to argue amongst themselves.

"You may enter now," the Sheikah behind the desk informed them.

He felt a sense of trepidation as they stepped into the light (and was blinded for a few seconds), into Master Terra's office.

The room was massive, its walls and ceiling mostly glass, giving them an absolutely awe-inspiring view of the city and the endless expanse of ocean stretching out into infinity. At their end of the room, groups of bookcases five rows deep lined each side of the doors, presumably Terra's personal library. Easy to get lost amongst them, Link imagined...Sheik would have loved them.

Terra's desk, empty of clutter save for a lounging flywacket, its fur and feathers a deep black, stood on a raised dais at the very end of the room, the man himself seemingly enjoying the view as well, his back turned to them.

The doors closed behind them, causing an uncomfortable echo. The approached the dais, leaving the more comfortable area with the bookcases, footsteps clicking against the stone floor.

They paused at the foot of the dais, Ayla clearing her throat loudly.

The flywacket gave them a green-eyed look of utter disdain and took off with a flutter, sailing towards the doors, disappearing among the bookshelves.

"I fucking hate that one," Ayla whispered, and Link fought the urge to chase after it.

"Come closer," Master Terra said, turning around to look at them.

Link wasn't sure what he expected. Based on what Kafei, Elenwe, Ayla, and Sheik had told him about the man before he'd left, Link had painted a very conflicting picture of the man in his mind. Someone strong and tough, but also fair. He'd expected scars. He'd expected scowls.

Not a kind-looking, white-bearded face that looked at him with joy of a grandfather meeting their grandchild for the first time. Terra was giving them both a big smile, seemingly excited by their presence. He was slim, his Sheikah blue-and-white robes doing little to hide lack of bulk, about average height. His hair was thinning and kept short, dark skin visible among the silver strands. He carried no weapons, but his graceful movements revealed a past spent fighting. His red eyes practically sparkled as he studied them both, nodding to each in greeting.

"Ayla," he said first, his voice surprisingly deep. Link recognised it right away. It had been the one that ended the arguing a little earlier. "Welcome back. I trust you've been well?"

"Thank you, master," she replied. "It is good to be back. I bring greetings from Master Kafei."

"Thank you—and all is well with the Sanctuary? I've been meaning to send a few hunters to bolster your ranks, as well as give young Kafei a little support."

"He would appreciate that, master."

Terra nodded, and then turned his attention to Link. Their eyes locked, and the old man's face was suddenly an unreadable mask. A second or so passed, and then the smile was back.

"And this must be our newest brother," he said, stepping out from behind the desk to stand in front of Link, giving the Hylian a close once-over. "Your name is Link, yes?"

Link had, despite Ayla's assurances, dreaded this moment. The one where he revealed he could not speak. Most hunters were proficient with some form of sign language, but there were so many different types, and there was no guarantee that Terra understood this one. He nodded, and signed slowly, **I am Link. It is an honour to meet you, master.**

Terra frowned a bit. "I'm afraid I only caught bits and pieces of that, young one," he said, sighing. "I am not as familiar with Hyrulian signing as I wish."

"I can translate, master," Ayla chimed in.

"Please do," Terra said, maintaining eye contact with Link, still smiling. It made Link feel a little better.

Link signed his greeting again, and Ayla repeated it out loud. "But we call him Wolf," she added. "His first hunt was for a lycanthrope."

"Ah, yes, the letter described this, I believe," Terra said. "In Hyrule, correct? Cooperating with Aire, gods rest his soul." He placed a hand over his chest at that, looking sad.

"He was a loss to us all," Ayla intoned, and Link mirrored her sad face. It was difficult, knowing that Sheik was still...er, if not entirely alive, then at least well. "They all were."

"We mourned them for a month when we received the news," Terra said. "It was a blessing anyone survived the attack at all. I understand that the vampire was quite...thorough. A pity that he escaped, in the end."

There was an edge to his tone right then, a slight criticism. Ayla picked up on it. "Regrettable, but unavoidable, master. Should he reappear, however—"

"Which he no doubt will do, on account of the Grand Hunt," Terra said. "I assume you have already heard of our success in the north? One by one, the vampire lords will fall—and with luck, Ascal or Emory or whatever his name is now will crawl out from whatever rock he's hiding under and join the fray." He frowned and stepped back, leaning against his desk. "Forgive me—the loss of Impa and the souls at the Studio still weighs heavily on me, and I find myself filled with rage whenever the ones responsible are brought up. This is supposed to be a joyous day, and I am ruining it quite effectively. My apologies." He perked up and approached Link again, eyeing the weapons at his back. "I understand young Aire perfected one of his designs just before his passing, and Kiro resurrected one of our old pieces of equipment. May I see them?"

At Ayla's nod, Link removed the silver-grooved longsword and automatic crossbow from his back, placing them on Terra's surprisingly empty desk for inspection. The old man hemmed and hawed, drawing the blade and swinging it experimentally, his ease and comfort with the motions proving once more that he was far from the innocent grandfather he appeared to be.

"A fine blade, this. We have already put them into mass production for when we hunt lycanthropes, of course, after Kafei sent us copies, but it is truly something special to hold the original prototype." Terra swung it once more before sheathing it carefully and with respect. "Fine work...a pity we will never see what else Aire might have devised."

He then moved on to the Zukov, hefting it and testing its weight. This, he proved more unfamiliar with, if only because the hunters had long since abandoned such delicate mechanics for the much simpler powder weapons. He wound the mechanism, listened to it ticking for a moment. "I never thought I'd see one of these again in working order," he commented, pulling the trigger and watching the mechanism work at firing non-existent bolts. "Amazing, if somewhat fragile. How many hours of maintenance per hour of use?"

Link held up two fingers. He was quite proud of that. When he'd first gotten it he could spend entire evenings just trying to figure out how to fix the damn thing.

"A lot of work," Terra said. "But on the other hand, being able to fire more than one shot at a time can be a godsend." He put it back down and let Link collect them, replacing them on his back. "Would you allow one of our artificers to study it for a day or two, so that we might perhaps one day put them back into production, perhaps even improve them a little?"

Link nodded, and Terra grinned, patting his shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Link towered over him. The master hunter was quite short, now that he was standing so close. Link could easily rest his elbow comfortably on Terra's shoulder. Not that he would, no matter how tempting it was.

"Good man," the old man finished, giving Link another once-over that nearly had him blushing. "Well, based on the reports I have received on your performance, combined with your demeanour, I see no problem in acknowledging your status as a hunter. Welcome, brother Link."

**Thank you, master,** Link signed, and Ayla made to translate, but Terra held up a hand, smiling.

"I understood that, and you are very welcome. I will admit, I had something of an ulterior motive with requesting your presence here, apart from inspecting you for myself." He looked a bit ashamed at that, but quickly recovered. "I am sure it comes as no surprise to you that I am curious about what happened at the Studio. The reports were thorough, but...I would very much like to hear the story from your mouths, especially yours, Link, as you were apparently involved from the very beginning of the tragedy...or, from your fingers, as it were. Perhaps ask you a few questions. Will you grant an old man this boon?"

Link could do little but nod. He didn't blame this old man for wanting to know. Written reports were all well and good, but hearing it was something else entirely. However, Link wasn't sure he was ready to recite the story right at that moment—he was quite tired from the climb, and his stomach was threatening to give off a growl at any moment. Ayla appeared to have similar feelings, considering her lack of immediate response.

"Not right now, of course," Terra said, clearly sensing their hesitance. "Perhaps tonight, after supper, in my quarters? We'll have the privacy for it then."

Link nodded, and Ayla said, "That would be agreeable, master."

"Excellent, then I shall see you tonight. You remember the way, Ayla?"

"Yes, master." Ayla hesitated. "Master, if I may, there is a matter I would like to discuss with you as well..."

Link had a sneaking suspicion about what this matter was, but kept his mouth shut...er, fingers still.

"Hm?" Terra looked at her for a long moment before seemingly coming to a realisation, and nodded. "Yes, of course. Tonight?"

"Preferably."

"Then I'm sure we can fit it into our schedule," he said. "Now, I'm sure the two of you are tired from your climbing, and the lunch hour is upon us. I understand they are serving fried octorok in the mess hall today." He graciously ignored Ayla's sound of disgust.

Link's stomach chose that moment to give the loud growl it had been threatening to, which made the old man chuckle.

"By the sound of that, you could eat a whole one by yourself, eh?"

Link found that he couldn't disagree with that statement, nodding while blushing.

"It's always good to see youth with healthy appetites," Terra said, still chuckling. He waved them towards the door. "All right, get going you two. I have a million more meetings to get through before I can eat myself. I shall see you both tonight."

And just like that, they were dismissed. Link kept glancing back at the old man as they left, ignoring the smell of the flywacket emanating from somewhere among the bookshelves. Terra kept his gaze on the city below. The doors shut behind them, and they were left in the darkness of the antechamber.

As they descended the stairs, Ayla rubbed her eyes. "Gods, that room always blinds me. How does he stand being in there the whole day? And the _heat_! Imagine when that place was the empress' throne room and it was absolutely packed with people!"

**Perhaps he's used to it?** Link suggested.

"Gotta be, or he's some sort of masochist."

**He seemed nice. Not like...**

"You expected?" she finished for him when he couldn't find the words. He nodded. "Yeah, he does that with people. Subverts expectations, and all that. Don't let it fool you, though. The man's a stone-cold killer when he has to be. You don't get to that age as a hunter without knowing how to fight...or lead. No idea how many villages he's ordered purged over the years. For good reasons, of course, but still...takes a special kind of person to be able to make decisions like that." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, we have some time to kill. Let's get lunch, and then I can show you around? I need to visit the workshops, too, to see if they've finished my order."

**Can we see the library?** Link signed hopefully. **Sheik said it was amazing.**

Specifically, he wanted to look for a primer on the Sheikah tongue. It'd be fun, surprising Sheik by showing how much he'd improved in the language since they'd last been together. And...well, a certain journal was becoming very difficult to ignore.

"Sure thing," she said. "Oh, and remind me to check in at the dormitories. We're going to need quarters for tonight, if Terra intends to keep us talking all evening. You do _not_ want to make that climb in the dark, believe me!"

* * *

Terra waited for a solid minute after the doors closed before sighing and descending from the dais, ignoring the four scuff marks in the marble where Empress Helen's throne had once stood. A tragic story, that.

He wandered over to the bookshelves, confident that he had some time before his next meeting, pretending to peruse the selection of volumes he'd personally collected over the years. He waited until he heard the familiar flutter, followed by creaking and popping, and grimaced.

"Well?" he asked after a moment, his tone lowering. "What do you think?"

The answering voice was quiet, a subtle vibration. "He absolutely stinks of wolf. And his eyes..."

"So the reports were correct," Terra said, sighing. "A tragedy, for such a young man."

"He carries it well," the voice continued. "He appears to be in control, in harmony with it. I do not believe him to be a danger."

"Yet," Terra corrected, and was rewarded with a hiss. "Now now," he said soothingly. "I am just saying that we cannot know if he will continue to be. Should a...disagreement between them form, it might spell disaster, both for him and whoever is in the vicinity."

The unseen speaker sighed. "You want me to keep an eye on him."

"If you would not mind," Terra said. "I am simply concerned for everyone's safety."

"And angry that you have been lied to," they said, a snide undertone to their voice, immensely pleased when Terra sighed again.

"Not angry, just disappointed," Terra corrected, resulting in another hiss. "I will discuss the matter with Kafei when the time is right. For now, I would like to get to know young Link a little better. In the meantime, as you said, I would like you to keep him under observation. Just to be safe."

"Very well," they said with a put-upon sigh. "I want salmon for supper tomorrow."

"I will speak with the kitchens."

There was no response, but soon enough Terra heard more popping and creaking, and then a yowl as the black flywacket stepped out from among the shelves, giving him a narrow-eyed stare before padding over to the doors. Terra opened them, and watched as the winged cat took its sweet time to march out with its tail held high. His assistant gave them a strange look, but Terra only shrugged.

"Cats," he offered, to which she could do little but nod. Closing the doors again, he leaned against them for a moment, wondering when his life had become such a menagerie of insanity.

Wolf.

He scoffed.

They weren't even _trying_ to hide it, were they? What was next, harbouring vampires?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The Sanctuary hunters: "Subtlety? What's that?!"**


	16. Ayla's Secret

Link smiled to himself as he pocketed the book of Sheikah letters and basic grammar, thoughtfully picked out for him by the chief librarian of the absolutely massive library housed within the Atelier's walls. The man could have been Navi's sibling (or at the very least relative, given the age difference), if his energy and passion for the world of books and knowledge was any indication, practically bouncing among the shelves, pointing out this and that volume as particularly useful for a novice such as Link, frequently breaking into anecdotes about various subjects that all, somehow, returned to the matter at hand—languages. Not bad, for a man who appeared to be approaching his late seventies, if not even older.

He lingered for another few minutes, just taking in the sight of the massive room that housed the collective knowledge of the hunters as an organisation. Apparently, it contained volumes so many centuries old that the mere act of touching them without protective gloves would ruin them forever, and had to be kept in airtight boxes to prevent even light from touching them. To the librarians, who appeared to be numerous enough to field a formidable army of their own, harming a book was tantamount to murder, and doing so in _their_ library would result in something very nasty happening to the interloper. The revocation of one's access to the haven of knowledge was but the first step to the terrible vengeance they would wreak upon the unfortunate soul who had trespassed upon the most holy.

Sheik would have loved it; Link was convinced of that. The sheer amount of time his lover spent in the tiny library at the Sanctuary was proof of that. Had he ever seen this place, back during his first (and only) visit, so many years ago? Probably not—he'd been a child back then, unlikely to appreciate the library for what it was. Or maybe he did? Sheik seldom spoke of those days, and Link hadn't the will to poke or prod at that particular wound. It hadn't been long after the death of his family. Link understood that pain. He felt it every day, himself.

Ayla was lounging outside the library entrance, practically hanging off the railing as she watched the teeming life below them; an endless stream of hunters going back and forth in their daily lives, many preparing to march out and join the Grand Hunt.

"Got what you needed?" she asked, noting his pleased expression.

**I did,** he signed. **Chief librarian helped me.**

Ayla gave a shudder. "You're lucky to have caught old Mefe in a good mood, then," she said, putting her arm on his lower back and gently leading him away, towards the stairs, heading down. "Last time I was in there, I got chased out by a mob of old men and women. They threw quills at me. Quills!"

**You almost set fire to the library** , he signed reproachfully.

"It was an accident!"

**You were experimenting with gunpowder!**

"I was working on stealth rounds! I needed somewhere quiet!"

Her (bullshit) justifications continued as Ayla led Link towards the section of the palace that housed the workshops. He could smell the metal and powder already now, oil and leather, all sorts of chemical scents and signatures, hanging heavily in the air around the set of reinforced double doors near the back of the palace, leading into the mountain itself.

Even here, in the din of a hundred conversations from a thousand voice, he could hear the hammers banging on anvils, of saws cutting wood, of firearms going off.

Ayla paused outside the doors, motioning for the guards there to hold off on opening them. She turned to Link with a look of concern, noting his slight grimace. She stepped closer, touching his shoulder. "Need your plugs?" she asked, referring to a pair of wax plugs Link sometimes wore when his sensitive ears picked up too much noise. They helped a little, giving him some respite from the constant onslaught of sensations that the Beast relentlessly bombarded him with.

He shook his head. **I'll be fine,** he signed. A lie. He'd forgotten the plugs at their hotel. He'd been too excited about seeing the Atelier, leaving them behind.

Her look told him she believed that about as far as she could throw him (which, given his general mass, wasn't very far), but she didn't press the issue, nodding for the guards to open the doors.

The workshop at the Studio had been an impressive affair. An old chapel, a huge room lined with tables and little cubbies for each individual hunter to ply their creativity and skills, coming up with new weapons and tools to make their hunts a little easier, their ideas brought to life by the three massive forges at the end. Link could still remember the massive form of Hafthor the smith, framed by the fires of the forges, bending a piece of metal to his will...

By comparison, the workshop of the Atelier was a little less...grandiose. As opposed to one large room, it appeared to have been divided into a series of smaller ones, each housing a forge and a number of individual workspaces, but not separate ones like at the Studio. An open air of creativity, of sorts...or something like that. Link had never had a way with words. That was Sheik's job.

Link's nose and ears, however, were working overtime trying to compress the sheer amount of information they picked up in the air into something his brain could understand, the results of which was very likely going to be a nasty headache later. Sometimes he wondered if the Beast had a better capacity for all the environmental data his senses were picking up, but as usual no useful (or understandable) answers were to be had from _that_ corner of his mind...other than the impression of a smug grin somewhere back there.

"Yeah, I liked the workshop at home better, too," Ayla said as she led the way through the veritable maze of interconnected rooms, occasionally greeting passing hunters she recognised. Most greeted her back, others barely paid her any attention at all. "Can't be liked by everyone," she offered as an explanation for that. "Ah, here we are," she said, practically kicking open the next door they reached, stomping inside like she owned the place.

Inside, a pair of smiths were working on something, bent over a set of blueprints for some sort of mechanical device. Neither of them appeared to have noticed Ayla's unconventional entry into their workspace, paying her no mind as they continued speaking quietly to each other, pointing at the lines and numbers drawn on the paper.

She did not look happy about the lack of attention, so she drew a deep breath instead, and Link instinctively covered his ears. He wasn't sure if she was going to sing or shout; either way his ears were _not_ prepared for that sort of assault right now.

"Guess who's back!" she all but screamed, marching towards the pair of smiths and slamming her hand onto the table.

Only then did the smiths give her the time of day, slowly looking up at her with bored-looking faces (and very similar ones, too. Humans, clearly brother and sister, somewhere around Ayla's age, perhaps a little older), barely sparing her two seconds before returning to their work. Link could have sworn Ayla visibly deflated at the lack of reaction. Then her chest puffed up and she made to shout again, but the female smith held up a hand with a quiet "Shh!"

"We are nearly at a breakthrough," the male one spoke up, eyes fixed firmly on the blueprints. "Please, go throw yourself off the Seat so we can work in peace."

Ayla puffed up her cheeks, and Link was worried he was going to have to restrain her, but then she simply crossed her arms and glared at the two of them. Link lingered awkwardly at the doorway, realising they were the only occupants of this particular workspace, an array of tables and tools taking up most of the space.

"Ah, got it," the female smith suddenly said, picking up a pencil and marking something on the prints. "See? Too short. Increase the length by one-point-five inches—"

"—and you increase the balance and reduce the vibrations, decreasing the fatigue on the metal, of course," the male smith said, grinning at her. "You're a genius."

"That I am, that I am," she said, basking in his praise.

"And _so_ modest, too," Ayla chimed in sarcastically.

"That's rich, coming from you," the man said, walking around the table and pulling Ayla into a hug. Only then did Link realise how large the two of them were, easily dwarfing Ayla between them. The Gerudo's head barely came up to their shoulders. "Welcome back."

She returned it, and was then drawn into a similar one by the woman. Contrary to before, their faces were excited now; happy. "Are you calling me a braggart?" she said warningly once they'd separated. "I believe we could have a _long_ discussion about that."

"Equals in arrogance, then," the woman said, her strikingly blue eyes alighting upon Link. "And who is this formidable specimen?" she asked, stepping forward, quickly joined by her companion.

"This is Link, a new brother-in-arms," Ayla introduced. "Go ahead and introduce yourself, Link."

He did so haltingly, unsure if they actually understood what he was signing. He really ought to have picked up a slate when he had the chance, feeling a little awkward. To his surprise (and delight), the pair of them signed back, their movements quick and certain, clearly familiar and comfortable with the language.

**A pleasure to meet you, Link,** the male signed. **My name is Finn.**

**I am Runa,** the other signed. **Welcome to the Atelier.**

"They're from up north somewhere," Ayla supplied. "I've never been able to pronounce the place's name. Way too many vowels."

"How many times have we tried to teach you how to say our village's name, now?" Finn asked, giving her an exasperated look not much unlike the one Abbas had given her a few days before. Link wondered if all of Ayla's friends did that...which in turn made him consider the looks he himself gave her when she was being...well, herself. "It's pronounced—"

And then Finn made a series of noises with his mouth that, ostensibly, was a name in their northern tongue. Link had no chance of keeping up after the third set of the sound ' _ey'_ in there, giving up a whole two seconds before he stopped speaking.

Ayla gave Link a knowing look. "See?" she asked. "Sometimes I'm convinced it's something they've made up just to fuck with foreigners, but then I hear them speak to one of their countrymen and my brain just turns itself off."

"Which could easily be said about your tongue as well, my dear," Runa said, resting her elbow on Ayla's shoulder.

Link nodded awkwardly, smiling awkwardly. He was awkward in general. He hated meeting new people like this. He always felt superfluous. Finn was still standing next to him, looking him up and down in a way that wasn't...quite seemly.

**So...you two are smiths?** he signed.

"Artificers," Runa supplied, sniffing. "The rest of the rabble in this place might be satisfied with banging on metal until it comes out vaguely shaped as they thing they wanted, but my brother and I—"

Ah, so they _were_ siblings!

"—prefer to go at it with a little more finesse. Mechanics is the future, despite what the powderheads are saying about a single tube being enough. No imagination, I say!" She was eyeing Link's Zukov as she spoke. "Combine _that_ —" she pointed at it "—with combustion, and we'll never have to fear beasts again."

"But yes, we are also smiths," Finn said, stepping all over Runa's statement. "You will find no better axes than ours."

Link looked between the two before staring at Ayla. **Are all hunter siblings like this?** he signed. **Ard and Erd—**

"Are a chapter all unto themselves," the Gerudo said, shaking her head. "Finn and Runa, thankfully, stick to one field as opposed to trying to master them all. And speaking of mastering..." she turned to them. "You received my plans, yes?"

"We did," Finn confirmed, pointing to the plans on their table. "In fact, we were working on them when you came in and so rudely interrupted us. There were some issues with balance and the brittleness, but I think we have it nailed down, now."

"Any prototypes, yet?" Ayla asked, her eyes widening with excitement.

"One, without the trigger mechanism," Runa said, walking over to the table and pulling out a drawer. She withdrew what appeared to be a metal tube attached to a framework of some sort, and a handle-like structure at the end (really just two thin lengths of steel joined to each other). A metal cylinder took up the space between the tube and the handle, a trigger directly beneath it. "We just figured out the last problem, should have a proper working model in a few days. Just have to get some ammunition made."

Ayla took it from her with a reverent look on her face, holding it carefully as she touched the cylinder bit, rotating it carefully. "It spins!" she exclaimed gleefully, her smile so wide it could light up a room.

"That it does," Finn agreed, also grinning. "Every time you pull the hammer, the drum will spin, bringing the next chamber to it."

Link looked on in fascination as his friend became lost in the early prototype of something she'd clearly designed. **Chamber?** he signed to Runa, who nodded.

"Yes. A chamber with a cartridge inside."

**Cartridge?**

Link wondered if he ever sounded dumb when asking questions like this. He certainly hoped not. A country bumpkin he may have been, but Sheik had spent no small amount of time remedying that fact. But without a voice...

"A small metal cylinder open in one end, containing a bullet and a powder charge at the closed end," she explained, indicating the size of it with her thumb and index finger. "Fits inside the drum," she pointed to the spinning cylinder, "and is ignited by the hammer. When she fires a shot, and then pulls on the hammer—"

**A new shot is lined up,** Link finished, pleased when Runa actually stopped speaking to let him complete the sentence, smiling at her in appreciation. **Like the Zukov, almost.**

"That is the goal," Runa confirmed with a nod. "Hunters wouldn't have to arm themselves with a dozen pistols at a time with a pair of these in their belts."

"Less weight to carry around, less bulk," Finn supplied. "All in all, easier to move, easier to dodge potentially lethal attacks."

"What do you call it?" Runa asked Ayla, whose gaze was riveted to her creation.

"I've never been for fancy names," the Gerudo said, noticing their stares and suddenly looking bashful. "And I'm not comfortable with something like this bearing my name, unlike old Zukov, so...I think I'll just call it a _revolver_."

"Elegant," Finn said, nodding. "The name is also the description."

"Something like that," Ayla said.

"Are you staying for long, Ayla?" Runa asked. "If we work quickly enough, we might have a working prototype done in a few days, with a few blank cartridges for practice."

"A few days, I think," Ayla said, sounding uncertain and looking at Link with a seemingly hopeful glint in her eyes. "Unless Link wants to go home—"

**We can stay,** Link said, unable to say otherwise. It wasn't often Ayla looked like this, happy, excited, and carefree, and after their run-in with Mel there had been a subtle fear wrapping itself around her, which had all but evaporated now. He had no intention of letting it come back, and if staying a little longer than planned was the key to that, then so be it. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to see more of the Atelier, too, so this was just killing two birds with one stone.

Perhaps he could find a flywacket to chase around, too, like that Sheikah child had done...or to pet. He'd always liked cats...

Ayla nodded in appreciation, carefully running her fingers along the lines and contours of her newly christened revolver. "Thanks, Wolf," she said.

"That is wonderful news!" Finn exclaimed. "It has been too long since we last sparred!"

"And engaged in... _other_ physical activities," Runa said none-too-subtly, eyeing Ayla in a different way entirely than from before.

"That too," Finn said happily.

"Ah, well, sorry to say I'm currently spoken for," Ayla said immediately, apologetically, scratching her neck. "I made a promise, you see..."

"The Malon girl you mentioned in your letter?" Runa said, looking a little disappointed. "That is...well, I am happy for you, Ayla." Her attention turned to Link. "Though perhaps your partner is—"

**Spoken for too,** Link signed quickly, blushing a little. S **orry!** He almost laughed when Runa's shoulders slumped.

He didn't want to know how Sheik would react to finding out something like this after they came home. Strength-wise, they were about equal, but Sheik's temper was a thing to behold when he had no proper outlet. Fierce in a manner Link could only wish to emulate.

"Ah, worry not, sister," Finn said, walking over and patting her shoulder. "I am sure we will find someone at the pub."

"Hmph, won't be the same," Runa said, pouting.

Ayla chuckled, and then glanced at her pocket watch, grimacing. "Ah, crap, we're late for supper, and then our meeting with Terra. We'd better go, Link. Finn, Runa, we'll talk later, yeah?"

"Of course, Ayla," Finn said, still smiling. "Find us at the pub later if your meeting doesn't run long."

As they walked back through the workshop maze, Link glanced at Ayla for a long moment before signing, **Is there anyone else here you've slept with?**

It was an honest question. No meaning behind it.

Ayla simply grumbled something like, "Nothing wrong with having a little fun."

**Didn't say there was,** Link continued. **Just curious. And those two...**

"Are _a lot_ of fun, if a little strange at first," Ayla said, her cheeks reddening a bit.

**How so?**

"Well, for one thing, they share everything. And I mean _everything_."

Link's eyebrow rising in confusion must have egged something on in the Gerudo, and she spent their walk towards the mess hall regaling Link with tales of bedroom exploits that, given physical form, would have cracked the marble floor.

And Link thought _Lor's_ stories were raunchy!

* * *

Master Terra's quarters were halfway between the ground floor and his office at the top of the tower, in what appeared to have been the empress' bedchambers. More marble, gold, and silver than you could shake a stick at, though covered up with furs and carpets. The spacious room had been filled to the brim with more bookshelves and cabinets containing various nicknacks and trophies that spoke of a long and interesting life as a hunter. From what little Link had seen of it, Impa's quarters had been much the same.

The master himself was seated on a sofa near the fire. Divested of his robes and dressed in more casual trousers and a jacket, Link saw that there wasn't much bulk to the ageing Sheikah...but there was nothing frail about him. It was all tightly coiled muscle, practically invisible until the man unwound, at which point any unlucky opponents nearby would be wondering what hit them. Pure strength wasn't someone like Terra's way—it was the speed at which the moderate strength he possessed could be deployed.

"Ah, there you are," he said as they approached him. "Please, have a seat." They sat, and Terra looked at Link with a kind smile. "I trust you have enjoyed your first day here, Link? Ayla has shown you around, I hear—did everyone make you feel welcome?"

Link nodded and smiled back, unsure of how much he could sign without needing Ayla to translate for him.

"That is good—tensions can sometimes run high in these walls," the old man said, red eyes glinting in the firelight. "Not surprising, considering people of countless races from all over the world roam the halls. We are all united in trying to make the world a safer place, of course, but old baggage and prejudice is sometimes very hard to leave behind. Believe you me."

**I do,** Link said, nodding for emphasis. People were people, after all. Old grudges died hard.

"And everyone has been on their best behaviour, Ayla?" he asked, directing his gaze to the Gerudo, who had settled stiffly in her chair. "No one has brought up—"

"They haven't, master," she said quickly, interrupting him. "And...I'd rather not talk about _that_."

"No, I figured it was a different subject entirely you wanted to bring up with me," the old man said. "Though I was hoping it could wait until after...?"

"Of course."

Terra sighed and stood up, walking to a nearby cabinet to pull out a bottle filled with a dark red liquid and three glasses. He walked back to the sofa and sat down, pouring them a drink each. "I imagine it is a sad and grizzly story," he said, settling back in his seat, "but I would like you tell it to me fully, and without censorship. I want to know _everything_ , even the things that were left out of the report. Anything you can recall, especially about..." he paused, and then sighed. "The worst part about being a leader is having to remain impartial. You can't show favouritism, no matter how much _more_ you care for a single individual. I cared for every hunter at the Studio...but the one I cared for the most..."

"We don't know much about her last moments, master," Ayla said carefully. "She...ensured we were long gone by that time. But...we can tell you about the time leading up to it."

Impa's name wasn't mentioned, but it didn't take a genius to figure out who Terra was talking about. It got Link wondering about the nature of nature of the two masters' relationship. Based on what he'd been told by Sheik and the others, it had been neutral _at beast_ , antagonistic at worst. And yet, Terra was speaking of her so fondly... He supposed that it, like just about everything else that involved people, was too complicated to be condensed into a few words, a single definition.

"I would appreciate that, Ayla, Link," Terra said, nodding. "Please...start from the beginning."

"Well, it all started with Link being recruited by Sheik in Castle Town," Ayla said, nodding to Link. "So I suppose it's only fair that he begins the tale. I will translate."

And so Link began to sign, telling Terra a version of the story they'd prepared on the way to Ravana. It was very similar to the _actual_ story of the Studio's fall and the events just before and after, though leaving out certain...elements, like the result of Link's first hunt and the creature he'd encountered, and Sheik's...change.

They took turns, filling in information the other didn't have (carefully rehearsed, of course), making it seem like a very organic tale. Terra was listening with rapt attention, smiling at the appropriate spots (usually involving Impa). He frowned when Ascal's true nature was revealed, and the subsequent assault on the Studio by Whiteridge's watchmen, trapped by the vampire's web of lies.

By the time they got to the part where Impa had sealed them inside the old mining tunnels and subsequently blew up the fortress in an attempt to take Ascal with her, the old man looked exhausted, his hand shaking slightly as he poured himself another glass of wine.

"And...well, you know the rest of the story," Ayla said. "The reports were quite thorough on that part. We arrive in Hyrule, find it undergoing a coup by the vampire's apprentice..."

"Yes," Terra said, nodding. "That is...I feel horrible for saying it, but it is not really the part of it all that interested me. You killed the apprentice with the help of Em—Ascal, and then he escaped while your backs were turned."

"We tried—"Ayla began, but Terra waved her off.

"I know, and I do not blame you, Ayla," he said. "He was always a slippery devil, that one. Wrote the book on the subject of escaping, one might say. For once, he also showed restraint. He could easily have killed you all, as he did both times at the Studio. Instead he left quietly. Perhaps he considered leaving you alive as a warning, of sorts, not to come after him?"

"Who knows the motivations of a bloodsucker?" Ayla asked, shrugging. "It certainly hasn't stopped Kafei from focusing all available resources on finding him."

"He can't hide for much longer," Terra said firmly. "Not when we begin taking them down in earnest. He'll have no choice but to show himself then, if he wants his kind to survive."

**Maybe he doesn't.**

"What was that, son?"

Link blinked. Had he actually signed that? This was a new low. He knew it was possible to accidentally speak out loud, but to _sign_ it?!

"He said maybe he doesn't," Ayla translated helpfully. Link wished she'd just drink her wine and shut up.

Caught out, Link had no choice but to elaborate, and he was careful about what he was saying now. There was no telling what he or Ayla might reveal by accident if he wasn't.

**Ascal didn't seem to like the other vampires. Spoke negatively of them several times. Maybe he won't help once we start hunting them in earnest.**

Terra watched Link and then listened to Ayla's translation, nodding thoughtfully the entire time. "That would make sense...he certainly had no trouble hunting down other vampires to fulfil the conditions of the Accord...but our predecessors were convinced the ones he left alive were the kind that agreed with his worldview."

"Doesn't necessarily mean they were friends, just had similar positions," Ayla said.

Another nod. "True." Terra drank from his glass. "Whatever happens, we will flush him out, and I will not be sad to see his body on a pyre by the end of all this. The end of them all...we shouldn't have agreed to the Accord. Our ancestors and predecessors were very wise indeed, but even they made mistakes."

"One we're correcting now," Ayla said, and Link could tell how much she hated saying it, because even if she didn't think it, that sentence also included Sheik. The implication alone was unpleasant.

Silence descended upon them for a moment that seemed to never end, until a clock above the fireplace struck midnight. Terra blinked, glancing at the thing. "Ah, it is getting late. Ayla, if you would like to discuss the...matter..." He glanced towards Link. "I am not sure how comfortable you would be with our newest brother in the room."

**I can leave, if you like,** Link signed, standing up. **I remember the way to our quarters.**

"No, you can stay," Ayla said. "I can tell it's been bothering you, and given the things I know about you, I suppose it's only fair that you get to know something about me...though I'd prefer it if you kept our mouth shut about it around others."

**Of course,** Link signed and nodded.

"Good," Ayla said, taking a deep breath and focusing on Terra. "I sent a letter to the council regarding Mel, but I never received a reply."

"They felt it was better the reply came from me," Terra said, shifting uncomfortably. "We have discussed the man quite extensively, mostly on my urging, but...well, I think you already know what I'm about to say."

"Just...go ahead, master."

"They will _not_ be taking any steps towards disciplining him or otherwise punishing him for his actions," Terra said through gritted teeth, tension causing his shoulders to rise. Link could feel anger rolling off the man in waves. "And I was warned that, if I were to do so myself, then the consequences would be dire for the hunters. At worst, we might find ourselves no longer welcome in Ravana, or anywhere else in the region."

Ayla sighed, leaning forward and resting her head in her hands. Her hair shifted, revealing the tattoo on the back of her neck, just below the hairline. "So...it's going nowhere, huh?" she asked. "That's basically what you're saying."

Terra nodded, frowning. "I am sorry, Ayla. He has us all by the figurative balls, as long as he can keep whispering into the council's ears. How street trash like him managed to gain friends in such high places or why he remains a hunter when he could easily do anything else is beyond me. All I know is that he remains entrenched, and I am powerless to do anything about it."

"You tried, master, that is all I asked," Ayla said, looking miserable.

"For what it is worth, I have ordered him to stay away from you," Terra said. "And I have eyes and ears on him at all times. Should he step out of line...well, he knows what will happen if he gets caught engaging in such...behaviour again."

Link's grip on his glass, which had been tightening considerably for the past few minutes, finally became too much, and the glass shattered in his hand. The two looked at him with wide eyes, and Ayla positively flinched when Link stared at her with the look Sheik had once dubbed his "Predator eyes". They were terrifying, apparently.

"Link, what're you—"she began, hoping to draw attention to the fact that he'd broken one of Terra's glasses, but he was having none of it.

Carelessly dropping the shards on the carpet at his feet, Link signed slowly, deliberately at her. **What. Did. He. Do?**

He was tired of tiptoeing around the subject. A member of his pack had been hurt by Mel, and he wanted to know _how_ , so he could figure out an appropriate punishment for the man. A mauling, for example. He wanted—no, _needed_ —to know!

Ayla sighed, rubbing at her neck. At the tattoo. "Remember the story I told Lor, about my tattoo? How it's to cover up a...a different mark?"

Link nodded.

"Well...Mel gave that to me," she finished. "He sold me into slavery."

If Link hadn't shattered his glass before, he would have right then.

There were a great many uncertainties in Link's life. His own future, for example, was one he contemplated often, along with that of Sheik. For how long those futures would be intertwined was also a favourite subject for his mind to ponder in the early hours sometimes. He was certain that he loved Sheik, however. That would never change.

Tonight, however, another certainty joined its remarkably few brethren in his mind, slotting itself near his conviction that slavers were the scum of the earth. A certainty even the Beast could not disagree with, even if it wanted to.

Mel was a dead man!


	17. An Unexpected Face

Hunger and thirst, the likes of which he'd never experienced before, wracked Sheik as he slowly but surely came to, dragging himself kicking and screaming into the waking world, forcing himself awake when he'd much rather stay in the blissful darkness that had kept him in comfort. Pain had not existed there, its place taken by a wonderful numbness spreading through every part of his body.

It couldn't last, though. He needed to come back. Needed to complete his task...whatever that was. He had a job to do. He'd gotten the rest he needed, and now it was time to return.

_Fight through it,_ something in his head said. _Grit your teeth and bear with it. You're better than it!_

But now it all came rushing back—the pain, the hunger, the thirst—and he found himself already regretting his decision to wake up. His insides were on fire from starvation and injuries alike, his mouth dry like a desert, and his gut felt positively hollowed out. A low croaking sound echoed in his ears, and it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realise it was _him_ making it. He tried to rub at his eyes, which were remaining stubbornly closed, but even the act of lifting his arm was proving to be a monumental one, every muscle creaking in protest.

"You're awake."

Old instincts took over, and his body went through the motions. Or tried to, at the very least. Tried to reach for the dagger he always kept under his pillow, tried to roll out of the potential attacker's way—tried to ensure he did not join the many other Sheikah who'd been murdered in their sleep when they thought they were safe.

Tried—and failed. All it resulted in was another low croak and a half-hearted shuffle, his skin rubbing against the coarse fabric of his bedding, the mattress barely shifting beneath him. Then a hand, delightfully cold, came to rest on his forehead, dipping lower to cover his eyes.

"Easy, easy, shh," the voice said, trying to be comforting. "You're safe now—you're far away from danger."

_Lies,_ his mind told him, but he found he did not have the strength to struggle against whoever had him at a disadvantage...and what their hand was doing felt good. Sighing, his body relaxed, allowing the stranger's ministrations to continue.

Humming in satisfaction, the voice's owner continued to touch his face, the coolness seemingly spreading through his skin wherever she touched.

"Do you remember me, my lord?" the voice asked, her thumb gently pulling at his eyelid, allowing some small amount of light to flood his retina. It was too much, forcing him to screw the eye shut again. She wouldn't let him, however, forcing it open again soon after. "Your eyes must accustom themselves to the light again, my lord," she scolded lightly. "You have been without it for a week."

"A week?"

His voice sounded old and worn, like it belonged to someone six decades older, and had spent most of them smoking. Dry like a desert, his tongue flopped about in his mouth, useless.

"Yes," the voice confirmed. She once again forced him to open his eyes, and her form came swimmingly into view. Details were lost to the blur, but her hair—bright red, like fire—practically shone in the light of the candle at his bedside. Even that was too much, his eyes immediately beginning to swim with tears. "Ah, wait a moment."

Her hands disappeared, and Sheik had to cut himself off from whining at the loss of contact. He was confused, had no idea where he was, but he still had his pride, even if it was somewhat bruised at the moment. He wasn't about—

"Here, try these."

A familiar sensation of weight lowering on his ears, and the outside world growing a little dimmer.

"Try opening your eyes again, my lord."

He obeyed. There was little else to do. His eyes stung once more, but not nearly as badly as before. The woman's form was still there, the shine of her hair somewhat reduced, but no less spectacular. Her eyes were a bright amber, a small smile curling her lips as she waited for him to take in the details of his situation.

The smoked lenses of his spectacles were, he decided, one of the few good ideas Ascal had ever come up with.

"Better?" she asked.

"Better," Sheik confirmed, groaning.

"Good," she said. "Emory's eyes were sensitive as well, more so than normal. I can only imagine how yours must be."

"Do you have...any water?"

Before he'd even finished the question, a cup was pressed against his lips, and the feeling of cold water flooding his mouth was all he could concentrate on as he drank deeply. Once he'd had his fill, he found himself wrapped in an uncomfortable silence as the red-haired vampire busied herself with putting the cup away, as well as rearranging her seat in the chair by his bed.

The room was completely enclosed, with no windows to see out of. Seemingly carved out of rock, the walls and ceiling were uneven, as if the stonecutters had been in a hurry. The furniture was simple, more bare necessities than anything else. A heavy-looking door was the only way out, and it appeared to be barred on the inside, as if the vampire caring for him was expecting trouble trying to get in.

"The others have been eager to see you," she said once she noticed where his gaze was focused. "But I have kept them out. You were not left with much, after the attack, but I believe you have a right to keep your dignity intact. You can meet them in proper order later."

_The others? Attack?_

It took Sheik a good few seconds to even remember there had been events before this one, the last thing he could recall being on his hands and knees in the mud, lapping up...

He wanted to throw up.

"I...I drank..."

"Not much," she said. "I'm afraid you passed out before anything significant could be swallowed. Do you remember what happened?"

"I...you saved me," Sheik said, trying to sit up, but failing miserably. The woman helped him, arranging his pillows so he could lean back against them without aggravating his ribs.

"I also told you my name," she reminded him. "Do you remember?"

_It started with a vowel...A...E...I..._

"Ise..." he said slowly.

"Correct—well done," she said with a beaming smile that nearly had him blushing from the sheer honesty of it. He hadn't expected such behaviour from a vampire. Truthfully, he hadn't expected a vampire to act like Ascal, either, so he supposed he would simply have to stow his preconceptions away. "Ise, of Lumina," she said, taking his hand and shaking it for him. "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Sheik."

"A pleasure," Sheik mumbled. "I remember your name...from Ascal's..."

"Hm, yes, he had quite an extensive list, didn't he?" Ise said, looking at the small pile of books on the nightstand, next to the candle. Sheik's books. On top, Ascal's compendium. Next to them, he was relieved to see his grandmother's _kukri_ in its sheath. He'd have been devastated to lose that. "A little outdated now, though." She frowned. "Oh well, no use talking about at the moment. You must be starving—your body is practically running on nothing."

He wanted to say no, wanted to deny whatever she was going to offer next, but his own treacherous body wouldn't let him. His stomach felt like an empty pit, nothing but space to be filled, and his brain was sluggish, refusing to come to life and actually join the world in more than a half-dead manner.

Ise stood up and walked to the door, removing the bar and opening it. She spoke to whoever was waiting outside quietly, though her words reverberated off the walls.

"Anna, his lordship is hungry—will you fetch Ella for me?"

"Of course, mistress."

He didn't recognise the other voice, but it was delicate and melodious. Her scent was like Ise's—sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Another vampire. Where the hell was he?

"She will be along shortly, my lord," Ise said, returning to her seat, leaving the door unbarred. "In the meantime, I am sure you're wondering where we are."

"That would be nice to know, yes," Sheik said, trying to force his brain out of the hibernation it'd been in for the past week. "Though based on this room...I would say we are at Ghoulpass Keep."

His destination all along. The name alone had made him laugh when he first found it in the journal.

"Correct again, my lord," Ise said with more warmth in her voice than he'd ever heard from Impa. It was...unsettling. "You weren't far off when we found you, though I was surprised to see you attempting to make the journey cross-country instead of simply following the roads..."

"I had to take a detour," Sheik said vaguely. "Ran into some trouble."

"More than a little, I'd say. The things those loggers were threatening to do to you until you revealed yourself...I was sorely tempted to extend their suffering for the threats alone. The carriage took us the rest of the way."

He tried to feel bad for the loggers. He did. Perhaps they were decent men, beneath it all, when they weren't woken in the middle of the night by a thief in their midst, but it was difficult to feel sympathy in the face of what they'd wanted him to do to make up for his crime...

"Not to worry, no one will know what truly happened," Ise said dismissively. "As far as the authorities—such as they are up here—are concerned, it will look like a bandit attack."

"You saved me," Sheik said simply, inclining his head. "Thank you."

"Consider it a welcome present," she said, smiling again. "There is so much we have to teach you, such as—"

She was interrupted by the door opening and two people coming inside. One was the second vampire, a blonde Hylian woman whose face could have been set in stone for all the expression it had. The other was a human girl, no older than eighteen, mortal. She wore a delicate-looking, peach-coloured dress that exposed her slender, flawless neck, framed by the ebony hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She looked none-too-bothered to be in their presence, even doing a little curtsy in Sheik's direction.

"My lord," they greeted, almost in unison.

Ise gestured to the vampire, giving her a fond look. "This is Annalise, my apprentice. She was there when we found you—and was the one to recover your effects."

Sheik thanked her, to which she simply shrugged. "Call me Anna...and I couldn't leave them for the vultures," she said.

"And this is Elandra, our companion," Ise finished with no less fondness, gesturing to the human girl, who curtsied again. Standing, Ise nodded to Anna, who turned to leave. "She will tend to your hunger, my lord."

Before Sheik could ask what she meant by that, the two vampires were gone, leaving him alone in the room with Elandra, who seated herself on the edge of his bed, looking at him expectantly. To his shame, Sheik would himself unable to take his eyes off her neck. It was so...delicate-looking, and beneath it...had his hunger been any kind of natural, his stomach would have been growling in desperation at this point.

"Is something the matter, my lord?" she asked after a long moment of awkward silence, the breaking of which nearly had Sheik jumping out of the bed, his attention sharp like a razor.

"I...er...Ise said you were her...companion?" Sheik asked, his mouth suddenly very dry again. "What does that mean?"

She smiled. "It means I go wherever they go," she said simply. "And take care of their needs, like I am taking care of yours."

"You're...letting them feed on you?" he asked.

"If that is what they require, yes," she confirmed. "Among other things. In return, they take care of _me_ , and see to _my_ needs." She had the decency to blush a little at that. "It is...a mutually beneficial agreement."

_There's a different word for that,_ Sheik thought, but did not voice it. _But...my needs..._

He shifted uncomfortably. Surely they didn't expect him to...?

Elandra smiled a little wider. "Ah, my apologies, my lord. Lady Ise said you were young, but...not quite _this_ young. You're not used to it yet, are you? Please, allow me..." She crawled onto the bed, straddling him and gently lowering herself until her neck was within reach, careful not to brush against his injuries. "Go ahead, my lord—it's all right."

"I..."

His mouth, which had already felt like a sunbaked dirt road, went even drier as the scent of her hit his nostrils with full force, the ever-present thumping of her heart nearly echoing in his ears. He wanted to. He wanted so badly to bite her, to sink his fangs into her neck, to suck out her life fluid, rip and tear and suck until she was nothing but a dry husk, a piece of dead meat. He wanted it. She wanted it. She was presenting herself to him, like it was nothing, and why shouldn't he take advantage of it? Why shouldn't he—

He forced himself to look away, his fangs slotting back into their hiding place in the roof of his mouth, turning his head so that her scent wasn't so close—so vivid.

"My lord?"

She looked confused, reaching out to touch him, but he squirmed until she back a little away.

"Are you ill, my lord? Should I fetch lady Ise?" she asked, climbing off the bed and to her feet. "I will—"

"No!"

His voice was unnecessarily loud, but right now all he could worry about was reining himself back in, fighting the urge to break her neck and suck her dry. She would simply have to bear a bit of volume.

"I...I am not ill," he said slowly, gaze fixed firmly on his sheets. "I simply...do not feed on...people..."

He wasn't entirely sure what sort of reaction he'd receive from his peers when he told them of his dietary habits (guffawing laughter, mocking jeers, perhaps?). While Elandra was not a vampire, she was clearly familiar enough with them to have adopted their general attitude towards things, so her reaction would help Sheik gauge that of the others.

He wasn't expecting the small, slightly patronising smile she gave him at that. "Well, in that case I will not force myself upon you, my lord," she said, curtsying again. "I shall inform lady Ise—she will surely have an alternative for you."

"All...right?"

And then she was gone, leaving Sheik alone in his bed, wondering why the hell he'd bothered coming to this place. Screwing his eyes shut, he growled with frustration, trying to ignore the insatiable hunger gnawing at him from within.

_I'm stronger than this,_ he thought. _I'm stronger than_ them _!_

* * *

He must have fallen asleep again at some point. When he opened his eyes, the candle had burned down, and the air in the chamber had changed. It smelled differently. There was a rhythmic thumping that didn't belong there, hidden just beneath the sound of his own. Someone else was in the room with him. His injuries compromised his position, but old instincts still had him reaching for the dagger that should have been under his pillow...but wasn't. He ripped his spectacles off, looking wildly around the room.

"Well done," said an unfamiliar voice from the corner of the room, his shape a mere dark blob, nearly hidden.

Sheik gritted his teeth and reached of the nightstand, his fingers finding the comforting grip of his grandmother's _kukri_ , drawing it in a single, though not very smooth movement. Pointing the tip at the shadow, he snarled,

"Who are you?!"

"You took a while to wake up, but I think we can attribute that to your injuries," the voice continued, paying no heed to Sheik's demand. "Your senses once awake, however, are superb. To be expected, given your background." The blob shifted and unfolded itself into the shape of a man, stepping forward. "I can't wait to see what you're capable of once you're back to your full strength."

Sheik's eyes grew wide as he saw the man's face, but he did not seem perturbed. "My name is Kerran, vampire lord of the Obrine Mountains," he introduced himself, giving Sheik a smile that was far too familiar.

"I..."

His tongue wouldn't obey, refusing to move.

"Exhausted and hurt, I know," Kerran said, seating himself on the bed, near Sheik's knees, running a hand through his loose tresses of blonde hair, the exact same shade as...

"Elandra informed me of your...preference. Fear not, you are far from the first of us to think that way. We're not exactly equipped to cater to your particular diet here, but I've done my best to scrounge up something to at least get your strength back."

He reached into the pocket of his loose robes, pulling out a glass bottle filled with dark red liquid that clung to the sides of it. He pressed it into Sheik's hand, careful not to jostle the arm that had been shot.

It was still warm.

"Drink it now, before it grows cold and useless."

"What's it from?" Sheik asked.

"The servants are having pork for supper tonight," Kerran said, shrugging. "I asked them to bring me the blood the moment they slaughtered it. I came right here." He nodded to the bottle. "Now drink, or you'll be confined to this bed until you have a shift in appetite."

He had no idea if the Hylian in front of him was lying or not, but Sheik found his willpower rapidly eroding to nothing in the face of the story, and the warm bottle in his hand. Grunting, he pulled the cork out with his teeth before drinking greedily from the vessel, trying not to let the ecstasy he felt get to him, to convince himself that he wasn't so far gone that he was _happy_ about drinking the blood of a living creature, regardless of intelligence...but the effects were...undeniable.

From the first sip he could feel his body revitalising itself bit by bit. Aches and pains began to dim, fading away more and more as he drank. His arm, which had been alternatively numb and on fire since Jhaan had shot him, was quickly regaining feeling, fingers twitching in response to nerve impulses. His chest, aching and stiff from bruises and cracks, finally began to relax, allowing him to take proper breaths instead of reducing him to a whining mess.

"Good, isn't it?" Kerran asked, smiling. It was unnerving. It didn't belong on that face. "Nothing compared to the real stuff, of course, but...adequate."

Sheik paused, breathing heavily. His head was feeling light, but not in an unpleasant way like before. This was more a feeling of...contentment, his body and mind finally relaxing after being on edge for days. Addiction. That was what it was.

"I suggest you finish it," Kerran said, suddenly standing and heading for the door. "And then get some rest. If you're up for it tomorrow, I will show you around the keep. We're still waiting for a few more lords, so we've got time to kill."

"...okay..."

He didn't have the energy to say anything else, but he did look up when Kerran chuckled and nodded.

"Good night, Lord Sheik," he said. " _May your dreams be blissful._ "

The ease at which the other vampire formed the syllables and words of the Sheikah tongue was off-putting. It spoke of long experience with the language.

Finishing the last dregs of the pig's blood (and, to his shame, sticking his tongue as far down the neck as it could go), Sheik laid back in the bed, relishing in the feel of his body repairing itself. Already the prickling feeling in the fingers of his injured arm was gone.

While his body was indeed feeling nothing but bliss, his mind was preoccupied with what he'd just seen. In hindsight, once he'd thought it all through and considered the information he had from before, it would all make perfect sense.

At the moment, however, he found it impossible to believe that he'd just spoken with, and been fed by, Link's uncle.

_Uncle Kerran..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **More drama, damn it!**


	18. A Letter, a Bullet

Kerran wasn't surprised to find himself ambushed by Ise as soon as he left Sheik's chambers, simply falling into step beside him as they headed for the central staircase of the keep—a spiralling shaft that was designed to be a nightmare for invading forces. Anna followed them a few steps behind, her face as stony as ever.

"What do you think?" Ise finally asked when she deemed they were far enough away from Sheik's door.

"He's...interesting," Kerran replied. "His existence is a novelty, for one. The first Sheikah walker in centuries—certainly the first one to remain alive for so long." He looked at Ise as he spoke, seeing her attempts to appear neutral for the deception it was.

It was a particular weakness of hers, that. Kerran didn't know the particulars of her mortal past, but whatever happened had left her with a heart much too large for a walker. She cared too much, especially for the young ones. Like a mother bereaved of children, she tended to take young sirelings under her wing, offering support and advice whenever it was needed, even affection for those who desired it.

How, then, she'd ended up with _Anna_ for an apprentice, was a mystery. Kerran simply could not see the stoic Hylian accepting Ise's coddling treatment, even in private. He supposed it came down to the age-old adage of opposites attract. Perhaps Ise preferred it that way, to not muddle the relationship between sire and heir, and to get the affection Anna did not offer from their companion, Elandra.

Not that he ever voiced these thoughts out loud to anyone, of course. Anna, for all she appeared to not care about the people around her, had eyes and ears everywhere, and one could not utter anything in these circles without it reaching her. Many things could be said about Annalise, but she did _not_ tolerate any slights aimed towards her mistress, exacting swift retribution upon the poor soul who'd thought themselves safe.

This, more than anything, was the reason for the decision of excluding her from the Cabal. They simply could not take the chance on Anna's loyalty to Ise being as unbreakable as it appeared to be. It was simply too much of a risk—if the lords and ladies were to discover a treason within their ranks...well, the Cabal would soon discover how they'd held on to power for so long.

"His senses are acute," Kerran continued as they reached the stairs and climbed down, aiming for the large sitting room that would soon serve as the meeting chamber for the lords, as soon as the last two stragglers arrived. "He discovered my presence in his room immediately after waking. His vision is superb, as well; I was practically invisible. Keen to fight, as well."

"He is...rather tense, but I think it is justified, don't you?" Ise said. "Given how we found him. I am worried for his mental state, however—"

"Why?" Kerran asked. "He seems fine to me. Stoic, but that's not unusual for his kind. I daresay he could rival dear Anna once he's recovered."

Anna said nothing.

"And his preference for animal blood..." Kerran chuckled. "Well, nothing unusual about that, either. I mean, which of us can truly say we did not try to stick to that path when we were young? I certainly did."

"As did I," Ise agreed. "Anna, though..."

"For some reason, that does not surprise me in the least," Kerran said, aiming a grin in Anna's direction.

Anna said nothing.

"He did stare a lot, though," Kerran continued. "He kept looking at my face, like he'd seen a ghost." He chuckled. "Am I really that good-looking?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Anna said, her tone deadly serious.

"You're a perfectly handsome young man," Ise added in a tone that, coming from anyone else, would have sounded sarcastic. From her, it was motherly—earnest and truthful. Kerran wasn't sure which was worse. Adding insult to injury, she gave him an utterly sincere smile.

"Oh, Anna," Kerran sighed. "You still have a lot to learn from your mistress; especially about paying someone a compliment."

"I have no problems paying compliments to those who deserve them," Anna countered, her eyes studying him for a moment before she shrugged and said, damningly, "Meh."

Kerran gasped, gripping his chest. "Annalise, you really know how to stake a man's heart!"

Her face did not even twitch.

"Now now, children," Ise said as they reached the right landing and led them through the doors of the big room, where a fire was burning brightly, warming the chamber. Not really necessary, but the flickering light gave it an ambience that just seemed...appropriate for the occasion. "We've no time for bickering. We must find out exactly what Lord Sheik hopes to accomplish by coming here. Does he hope to find a home? A family?"

That would certainly be _your_ dream, Kerran thought, shaking his head.

"Hard to tell," he said. "Our spies have been unable to find out anything other than his general location. He's been laying low, which is smart. The Sanctuary hunters have kept his existence a secret for now, presumably out of misplaced loyalty. It's a miracle our letter even reached him—I feared we would have to make a personal appearance."

"Perhaps he is here to spy on us," Anna offered.

"Always a possibility," Kerran agreed. "I doubt it, though. He already knew about our location, which has thus far been kept a secret from the hunters at large. He surely would have brought an army of them here if his loyalties lay entirely with the hunters. No, I think he's here for a different reason, perhaps relating to Emory." He had to force himself not to grimace as he spoke the traitor's name. It made his mouth taste filthy.

"Whatever it is, I am sure he will be willing to speak more once he has recovered," Ise said, not happy about their alternative theories. She probably hoped that Sheik was simply a wayward sireling desperate for guidance, which she would happily provide. "I will check in on him later tonight, to see how his recovery is coming along."

Kerran wanted to protest at that. He wasn't sure why. Ise had found Sheik, after all; technically, he was _her_ responsibility. It didn't concern him if she wanted to play mother to the new kid in the family...except he found himself wanting to check up on Sheik himself. For the sake of science, of course. He was curious to see how well a Sheikah walker responded to blood, the rate of healing, and so on. Unfortunately, his night was going to be a busy one, with no time allotted for checking up on his new little brother. The good doctor was ready for another round of tests, and judging from experience it would take quite some time. And then he needed to contact the others, to arrange a meeting...

"As you wish," he said, nodding and turning towards the doors. "Let me know if his condition worsens, or if something else happens."

"Naturally," Ise said. She reached out and touched his arm, forcing him to pause. "Apropos Emory...has there been any news?"

Kerran shook his head. "No," he lied. "Our spies are looking, but they've yet to uncover anything conclusive. He remains on the move, never staying in one place long enough for us to trace him. Rest assured, however, that you will be the first one to know when they do."

"Thank you." Her gratitude was genuine. "The sooner we can get him to safety, the better. It's not safe out there for him, on his own. Perhaps Lord Sheik knows something..."

"Somehow I don't think our new little brother is particularly interested in Emory's wellbeing, given his actions of the last year," Kerran said, fighting the grin that threatened to cross his lips. "But we can always hope. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Good night, Lady Ise, Anna."

* * *

Jhaan wasn't surprised to see that the hunters had yet to break camp, still remaining within the protective walls of the dead vampire's keep.

In one way it was a comfort to know that her assessment of Luta's leadership abilities was still correct; the man had no ambition or drive, content to rest on the laurels of his most recent victory rather than be proactive and move on, to gather information on the next target.

In another, it meant that the Grand Hunt in this region was being led by an utterly incompetent layabout who intended to let his underlings do all the work while he claimed all the credit. It was just more proof that the hunter system was broken. Luta was a clan heir, and therefore—somehow—more fit for command than someone like Ina, who had more talent in her little finger than Luta had in his whole body. Whoever had assigned him the role as pathfinder was a fool.

Signs of the hunters making themselves comfortable were visible even from a distance. More permanent accommodations had been erected—wooden frames for larger tents, proper latrines, and more. Dozens of fires burning brightly, unheeding of whatever creatures lurked in the woods surrounding the keep. Barely any perimeter guards at all—at most a pair of bored-looking hunters who were clearly keen on returning to whatever party was being held within the walls, based on the music and voices they'd heard from miles away. If the vamps came here tonight, the camp would be caught quite off-guard.

She was too busy analysing the defensive capabilities of the place to notice the tree root at her foot, cursing when she tripped over it like a fool. Magnus' strong arm, suddenly curled around her middle, stopped her from falling, however.

"You all right?" he rumbled.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said, patting the arm so he'd let her go.

"How's your head?" Reyne asked, sounding concerned. "Are you dizzy?"

"No, I'm fine," she repeated. It wasn't even a lie. The persistent headache she'd had since the Sheikah vampire had knocked her out had dulled considerably—it felt more like a toothache now, surely soon to fade away completely. The dizziness had gone after a day, luckily. The bruise, on the other hand, hadn't, and she had no doubt she was quite a sight these days—the side of her head all blue, black, and yellow. "Just clumsy," she added with a grin.

"Never thought I'd see the day when Jhaan admits she's anything but perfect," Reyne said with a chuckle. She punched his shoulder, making him yelp.

"I'm a work of art, I'll have you know," she said, spotting a familiar face by the fire closest to them, which made her smile. "Oi, Ina!"

The other Sheikah was tending to a pile of weapons by the fire, in front of her tent, seemingly as far away from the keep as possible. Jhaan could only assume Luta had done something to piss her off, yet again, but being the consummate professional she was, Ina had taken her temper elsewhere, taking it out on the dull blades she was sharpening. Her hair was done up, revealing the sharp angles of her face and jaw, currently set in a scowl, which only let up a little when she spotted who had called for her.

"You're back," she said, her voice strained.

"And you're pissed," Jhaan commented, dumping herself by Ina's side, Magnus and Reyne keeping close to her. "Luta did something stupid again, didn't he? That why you decided to pitch your tent so far away from the keep?"

"We merely had a...disagreement," Ina said, running her thumb along the blade of a dagger, scowling a little deeper when she didn't find it sharp enough. "And I decided to give him a little time to consider his options."

Jhaan nodded silently. It was rare to find Ina in one of these moods. And a little frightening, even though Jhaan was by far the one with the worst reputation of the two. The older Sheikah was, in general, a rather serene and quiet individual, with a fuse that ran for miles. Once that fuse reached its end, however...well, Jhaan had only been on the receiving end of the ensuing storm _once_ in her life, and that was more than enough.

"You're hurt," Ina commented, looking at the three of them one by one, paying special attention to Jhaan's prominent bruise. "The hunt...did it—"

"We failed," Jhaan said. "We never found the vampire. Ran into a group of bandits, though."

"Bandits," Ina said drily. "Right."

"Damnedest thing."

"One was eight feet tall," Reyne said. "Bigger than Magnus!"

"Cut him down to size, though," the northman said with a rumble.

Ina looked like she wanted to say something else, but in the end she simply shook her head and resumed her maintenance. "Luta won't be happy," she muttered after a long stretch of silence, punctuated only by the shouts from the keep.

"Luta can kiss my arse," Jhaan said, grimacing. "Actually, he's not worthy of that. He can kiss Terra's arse!"

"Oh, I can, can I?"

Jhaan's stomach plummeted a little at the sound of Luta's voice coming from the darkness, followed shortly by the man himself emerging from among the trees. Luta was, simply put, a man who embodied the word _average_. Average height, average looks, average skills...average brains. The only things that _weren't_ average were his ego, which likely rivalled the size of the moon, and his pettiness. If one wanted the definition of pettiness, Luta was it. Best him in a test of skill or strength, and the man would go to infinite lengths to get back at you for it. The only good thing about it was that his average mind was not nearly imaginative enough to make his payback seem anything but...well, petty.

"Jhaan, Reyne, Magnus," Luta greeted them all in turn. "Welcome back. No need to report, I heard everything just now." He casually seated himself by the fire, next to Ina, who in turn shuffled closer to Jhaan. "And I cannot say that I am surprised by the result."

"If you're not surprised, then you expected us to fail," Reyne said, eyes narrowed. "Which has me wondering, why send us at all?"

Luta's spread his arms wide. "Why, Reyne, it sounds like you are accusing me of having ulterior motives, or perhaps not knowing what I'm doing! That is conduct unworthy of a hunter, don't you think?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Reyne said calmly. "I am simply asking you a question."

"Perhaps I wanted to give the three of you a chance to prove yourselves, for once?" Luta grinned, as if he was enjoying some sort of joke. "I mean, it's not like you've done much to distinguish yourselves as of late—"

"We killed the first vamp of the hunt," Jhaan interjected. "I'd say that's pretty significant."

"Small fry, barely worth the effort it took to find his location," Luta said with a shrug. "Had it been the infamous Ascal, then perhaps I'd be congratulating you. Alas..." He shook his head, grimacing. "You failed to apprehend the new Hyrulian lord, and as a result they will likely make contact with the rest. Gods know where they are by now. They'll be strengthened now, meaning we'll lose more hunters once the hunt really gets started."

"Luta, that is hardly fair—"Ina began, but he rudely cut her off.

"Such are the consequences of their failure," Luta said forcefully. "And I know exactly what my reports to the masters will say. If the losses we are sure to suffer because of their incompetence don't result in disciplinary action, I will be very surprised."

"If this assignment was so damn important," Jhaan said, trying to calm herself down. Her heart was hammering in her chest, half from anger and half from panic, the origin of which she knew not. "Maybe you should have sent more than three of us to cover a dozen fucking roads!"

"It had to be covert, or the vamp would have been tipped off to your presence!" Luta countered. "Is it not true that three hunters are easier to miss than twenty?"

"That is not—"

"And for all your boasts, Jhaan, I have yet to see a display of this superior intellect you claim to have—surely you could have found a way to funnel the vamp to a selected ambush site?" Luta stood up, glaring down at them. "Or was I simply expecting too much? Or suffered temporary insanity? I must have, or I wouldn't have sent a half-breed mongrel, a failed third son of use to no one, and a murderer to perform a simple task! Am I even..."

He trailed off as Magnus rose to his feet, a mountain rising to reach the sky, his eyes flashing dangerously in the light of the campfire as he glared down at the pathfinder, whose physical form was anything but imposing at the best of times.

"We have returned," Magnus said quietly. "We have reported our failure. Unless you have another task for us, you have no business by our fire. Please leave."

"Or...or what?" Luta said, trying to sound tough despite the visible tremor in his knees.

Magnus didn't say anything for a good few seconds, just staring the p pathfinder down. Then he leaned forward, close enough for the man on the other side of the fire to hear him, and whispered, "Do you want to find out?"

To his credit, Luta remained resolute...for about ten seconds. Then he shook his head and turned away, marching back towards the keep. "How you dare sleep next to this monster is beyond me," he threw back at them. "The masters will hear of this, too! Impa isn't around to cover your worthless asses anymore!"

Jhaan had to fight the urge to pull her pistol and plant a bullet in Luta's back. How dare he invoke her name?

"That wasn't very smart," Ina said once Luta was gone, and Magnus had settled back down. "He won't let that go—you know how he is."

Gently, Magnus put his arms around both Jhaan and Reyne and pulled them closer until they were flush up against him. Protective.

"Let him try," he said. "I have dealt with worse."

"Settle down, big guy," Reyne said, nuzzling closer to him. "It's all right."

"He called you a failure," Magnus said, as if that was all the justification he needed. "And you," he tightened his hold on Jhaan. "What he said—"

"Is by far some of the nicest things that have been said about me," Jhaan said, trying to be reassuring. Granted, being called that by another Sheikah was...unpleasant, but she wasn't about to admit that out loud. Besides, she was far more outraged by the insults to her partners. "But you're right, Mag—you're not a failure, Reyne."

"I certainly was in the eyes of my father," Reyne said, his voice oddly cheerful despite the circumstances. "And I'm not bothered. Proud to be one, actually, if my family's business is somehow a measurement for success." He looked up and planted a kiss on Magnus' cheek. "And you're not a murderer."

"That's right," Jhaan agreed, kissing him as well. "It was self-defence."

Ina watched the display with some amusement, the scowl gone from her face. "I'll write a report of my own," she said. "Provide a different perspective to it all. The pathfinder's expectations were too great, perhaps as a result of his inexperience as a leader. Doubt it'll do much in the long run, but I won't have this impossible task be your downfall." She picked up another dull blade and set to sharpening it. "And he really ought to know better than to drag blood into this," she added in a quiet growl.

" _But that's what it all comes down to, isn't it?_ " Jhaan asked in their tongue, having caught the words. " _I'll never be one of you. Not really._ " She shivered slightly when she felt Magnus' hand inching its way down her back, brushing over sensitive spots.

" _You really should learn when to shut up, sister,_ " Ina replied as she gathered up the sharpened weapons. "I'll start on that report immediately. With luck, it'll even arrive before his."

"There's something you need to know," Jhaan said, but Ina shook her head. "About the vamp—"

"In the morning, when you've had some time to rest and..." She grinned. " _When you've tended to your boys. They look a little pent-up. And so do you._ "

Jhaan felt her cheeks warming at that, deliberately not acknowledging the way Mag's hand was curling around her hip. It _had_ been a while... "But we—"she began, but Ina simply nodded towards her tent.

"Feel free to use it while I am gone—I will be busy until dawn anyway. Reports to write, more weapons to find and sharpen, and so on. Have a good night, you three. Mind your injuries."

Reyne snickered, slipping around Magnus to wrap his arms around Jhaan from behind, kissing her neck. "You heard her," he whispered. "Her tent's all ours. Until dawn."

"Very gracious and hospitable of her," Magnus rumbled.

"You two are the worst," Jhaan said, her protests only half-hearted as they made their way into the tent, hands already sneaking their way under her clothes.

Not that hers were doing the same to them. Not at all.

* * *

"This is highly undignified."

"And absolutely filthy. Surely there are better places for this?"

"What is that ghastly smell?"

"I do believe it is shit, my dear."

"It smells rotten."

"It is. They are. They all are."

Kerran ignored the snide comments from the Cabal members, leading them through the basements and into a small room at the end of the rows of beds that currently contained the latest batch of failures. The room served as Doctor Cassim's office and laboratory, though the doctor himself was currently sleeping in the servants' quarters. There were no seats. This meeting wouldn't last long. He simply needed to deliver some vital information he had just received from a little bird.

"Please keep your comments to yourselves," Kerran said as he closed the door behind him, instructing two of his guards to remain nearby to deter would-be listeners. "I am working with the resources I have at my disposal—this needs to remain a secret."

"Surely breeding an army cannot be this difficult?" a sister said, crossing her arms in a petulant, impatient manner. "After all, we're all standing here, and I don't recall lying in a bed and slowly dissolving."

"There are a wide variety of factors and conditions that have to be optimal to sire a new walker," Kerran said patiently. "Suffice to say, I am having difficulty achieving those conditions, due to a variety of reasons. Progress is being made. However, this is not why I have convened this meeting."

"Then what is?" asked a brother calmly, looking perfectly at ease despite the smells and sights of the adjacent room. Of course, being the heir to the Night Lord, he'd be used to such things. "Is it related to the traitor?"

"It is," Kerran said, smiling at the six other members of the Cabal. "Most joyously so, in fact."

"Well? Don't keep us waiting in suspense, brother," said the other sister.

"He has been found," Kerran said, to the general excitement of the others, but he held up a hand. "Or, rather, one of his hideouts has been found."

The excitement died down. "And how does that help us?" the Night Lord heir asked. "Once he realises it's been compromised, he will simply move on to another."

"Well, let us just say that a little...trump card was discovered at the same location," Kerran said, knowing his withholding of information was driving them all insane. Life's little pleasures, and all that. "And I have already formulated a plan that will accomplish several goals of ours in one fell swoop, including the issue of inheritance for the six of you."

That piqued their interest again, and Kerran let himself fill with smug satisfaction, knowing he'd have them all eating out of his hand soon enough. Not bad, for being the newest member of the Cabal. Their problem had been a lack of imagination, of ambition. They'd simply wanted the power for themselves. Kerran knew how to _expand_ that power, all the while achieving vengeance for himself. Not that he'd say that out loud. They had to realise it for themselves, that he was the best person for the job.

He described to them his plan. What it was, what it would achieve. What the immediate and long-term consequences would be. How unpleasant the...business between would become. They took it rather well. By the end of his explanation, they were nodding their heads, grinning to each other.

"An excellent idea, Brother Kerran," the other sister said, taking his hand in hers and squeezing. "An admirable strategy, and surely to catch them all off-guard. I see no problem in casting my vote in favour of it. What say the rest of you?"

They all gave their approval, like Kerran knew they would. "I knew you would all agree with me, which is why I have already taken the liberty of messaging our man, telling him to begin immediately. Time is of the essence, after all."

It resulted in the usual lecture, that he shouldn't take action without the unanimous approval of the others, but he argued that there was no telling when the traitor would return, and that their plan had to be executed as soon as possible. There were grumbles and harsh words, but in the end they all agreed it was for the best. That time could not be wasted. After all, they had a new lord to convert to their cause, on top everything else. Time was, indeed, their greatest enemy at the moment.

Leading them back upstairs, Kerran smiled to himself.

Finally, he thought. It begins.

* * *

Kafei wasn't sure what to make of the young human who'd walked up to the Sanctuary's gates earlier that morning, claiming he had news for the company commander's ears only. He wore a filthy suit that had clearly seen better days based on its wear and several torn stitches, but he seemed to pay this no heed. With him was a middle-aged woman dressed in a dark suit, whom the man appeared to be slightly afraid of. Kafei didn't dare guess at their relationship, but she appeared to be some sort of bodyguard at the very least. What else she was to him, he didn't want to know.

After proper introductions were made and Kafei had them inside his office, still reeling a bit from having one of the richest men on the continent as a guest, was given the reason for his presence. A letter.

"She gave it to me to give to you," Thomas Carlyle explained. "Said that Juichi was fine, but I fear she might have been speaking untruthfully. She had clearly been in some sort of fight, if her bruise was anything to judge by." He shifted uncomfortably under Kafei's gaze.

"I see," Kafei said slowly. He was afraid to open the envelope. It was clearly from a hunter, bearing their seal, but the circumstances that had led to it reaching his hands were...worrying. Clearly, Sheik's passage north hadn't been nearly as uneventful as he'd hoped.

I shouldn't have let him go alone. Just his luck, really, to run into trouble, Kafei thought as he tore through the seal and unfolded the letter, scanning it quickly. His blood ran cold, and every conceivable curse in every language he knew tore across his mind, his mouth held firmly shut to avoid offending the railroad owner in front of him. His bodyguard seemed content to study him, only pausing to give her ward an ugly look from time to time.

"When...when did you say you received this letter?" Kafei asked, carefully folding the letter and placing it in his desk drawer. He had no idea how much Mister Carlyle knew about Sheik, the nature of his being, or anything in general, but he couldn't risk outing themselves.

"A little over a week ago, sir," Carlyle said. "Just as I was leaving Felhearth. I made it a point to come here as soon as possible, as I was worried about Juichi. I sent the other letter by express carriage—it should arrive within a few days."

Kafei paused. "Other letter? There was a second letter?"

"Yes, I believe it says the same thing—not that I looked, of course—"

"Where did she ask you to send it, Mister Carlyle?" Kafei asked, gripping the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white.

Realising he may have done something unwise, Carlyle hesitated as he spoke. "I...she asked me to send it to another mercenary company, sir. Affiliated with yours, perhaps? The Wings of Defiance...in Ravana."

This time, Kafei did swear out loud.

* * *

Within an hour of receiving the message by raven, he was on his way. He rode down the dirt road, soon enough reaching the clearing where the small farmhouse stood. Smoke was billowing from the chimney, indicating someone was home. Nothing seemed to have changed since he'd last observed the house and its occupants. No extra horses, no extra laundry.

They'd likely thought themselves clever, choosing this place to hide in. Who'd expect it, given their background? Tucked into a corner of a minor, anonymous nation that did and had done nothing of importance, the hideout was the last place one would think to look. But he'd found it. And farming? The idea was laughable.

He approached the house from the back, where there were fewer windows, vaulting over the ramshackle fence and putting his back against the stone wall. The kitchen door was locked, but a quick consultation with his toolset soon had it swinging open. The hinges were well-maintained and oiled, barely making a sound.

The ground floor of the building was unremarkable, identical to any such household of similar standing. The only thing that gave away the identity of its occupant was a carefully kept collection of leather-bound books on a shelf by the fireplace. Farmers didn't bother with those.

The solitary guard—mortal—who prowled the grounds every hour on the dot had fallen asleep on the sofa, clearly confident in the place's security by obscurity. It'd cost him his master's life. A quick slash of his knife, and the man was twitching, grasping at his throat to keep the gash closed, his movements growing feebler with every second, until he was still, drenched in his own blood.

With the ground floor clear, he decided to move upstairs, creeping up step by step. He heard gentle humming from the room at the end of the hall—the room he'd judged to be a study of sorts, based on how long the light within burned at night.

He wasted no time. He kicked the door open, his pistol raised and aimed at the young Hylian behind the desk, his eyes wide as dinner plates as he took in the sight of the intruder.

"Wait!" the young man said, raising his arms. "Please, don't shoot!"

He regarded the young man with cold eyes.

"Look," he continued, "I have money. You can take it. All of it. Just...please...don't shoot."

He cocked the hammer of his pistol. "Sorry, my lord," he said, "but your time is up."

"Will you at least tell me who you work for?" the Hylian asked, trying to steel himself, trying to be brave. "Is Princess Zelda the one who ordered this?"

"No, you can thank your friend's extended family for this," he replied. "And you can rest easy, knowing that your death will serve a purpose far grander than you can imagine. Farewell, my lord."

He pulled the trigger, and Lord Jerewin Camdessus was no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well, that sure happened...**


	19. Pointless

The fire burned brightly in the night, crackling and hissing as it consumed the fuel he'd provided. It had been quite some time since he'd last been forced to build a fire like this, and he was relieved to see the flame actually thriving, instead of fizzling out with a whimper and a pathetic puff of smoke. It would have been embarrassing, being forced to make use of the lamp oil to get it to burn. Fake, somehow. Manufactured.

That wouldn't have been good enough. Not for Jerewin.

Ascal breathed in deeply as he watched the burning remains of his charge, refusing to take his eyes off them for even a second. He'd made the mistake once already, and look what had happened. Gods knew what else would happen if he did it again, but he would take no chances.

A crack, and a shower of embers erupted from the funeral pyre, billowing up into the air before being snuffed out. In the old days, they'd interpreted that as the soul leaving the body and returning to the wild, becoming one with creation once more, resting until it was ready to inhabit an earthly vessel again.

Reincarnation was such a beautiful thought...but ultimately disappointing. What was the point of returning to life if the people you'd known and loved were gone? Starting over again might be appealing to some, but Ascal couldn't imagine anything worse.

He sighed.

If nothing else, that thought proved just how old he was. Centuries of living, and what did he have to show for it?

Not a damned thing.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough from lack of use. He wasn't sure how long it'd taken him to build the pyre—a few days, perhaps? He had not spoken a word the entire time. Not even when he'd...well, he'd get to  _that_  in due time. And in the end...was that all he could say? Jerewin certainly deserved far more than that. If only he weren't such a coward...

He cleared his throat.

"For everything," he added. "Some fucking eulogy, huh?" he asked, chuckling. "I've known you since the day you drew your first breath, and all I can say is sorry? If your father were here...well, he'd have me flogged, I'm sure. Or, he'd  _try_  to have me flogged, at least. We both know how well I took to his attempts at disciplining me...which only served to direct his anger at you." He blinked, keeping his gaze on Jerewin's folded hands, unable to look as the flames consumed the cloth covering the young man's face. He didn't deserve to look at it. "Another thing I have to apologise for, I suppose."

_Gentle_ had never been a word that could describe the elder Lord Camdessus, and Ascal had personally witnessed just how cruel the man could be when his ire was raised. Usually, he managed to shield young Jerewin from the worst of it, but sometimes he could do little but offer the boy comfort in the aftermath. A weakness, really, but Ascal had always considered himself to be a little too soft anyway. What was drying a few tears in the grand scheme of things?

Of course, once Jerewin had become a teenager, things had become...different. Coinciding with his decreasing importance at court and diminishing power in general, the elder Camdessus' moods had grown darker, his acts more violent. What else was Ascal to do when, one day, he'd found Jerewin lying on the floor of his chambers, bleeding from several whip marks across his back?

He'd made it look...clean. The elder Camdessus hadn't even realised what was happening before it was over. Died peacefully in his sleep, the doctor had said after a thorough examination...and a few exchanged rupees, courtesy of the family's ever-so-loyal retainer. Who cared about a snapped vertebra or two? Probably a pre-existing condition the old miser had refused to have looked at. The old man had been losing it, anyway, going absolutely mental. It was a good thing he'd died before it could affect his work at the court, even.

Jerewin had been...well, it was hard to describe, really. Grateful, relieved, devastated, and a million other emotions, all crushed into a ball that left him a damn mess. And Ascal had, in his usual stupid manner, suggested the Bite. Told him of the effect it had on the mortals unlucky enough to find themselves in the grasp of a vampire...or lucky enough, depending on the perspective.

It wasn't the first time Jerewin had offered his blood to Ascal. No, he was more than a little familiar with his confidante's...condition. Had freely given Ascal what he needed as a mere boy, all because he'd seen Ascal suffer. Ascal had vowed for it to only happen once, but...

It had been a beneficial exchange, occurring when Jerewin was at his lowest, ruined by mourning a father he had loved and hated in equal measure, and Ascal suffering from the worst bout of withdrawal he'd ever experienced. He hadn't even been injured—just too busy looking after the Camdessus estate and affairs while Jerewin recovered from his loss. He'd missed his scheduled feeding time, and...well...

In the end, the both of them had gotten what they needed. Ascal had fed, and Jerewin had left Ascal's bed feeling lighter and happier than he had in weeks. And he'd kept coming back for more.

Truth be told, things had escalated in a manner Ascal had not foreseen or particularly wanted from there, but what else could he do after making an addict of the boy? It all became routine, and once Jerewin had entered the political arena and begun doing a better job of it than his father ever had—with careful guidance and advice from Ascal—it had been all too easy to make a few...suggestions. Why not grab power where it could be gained? Create profit out of nowhere from an area of extreme deficit? Slavery wasn't so bad, was it, as long the masters treat their property with respect?

...okay, the last one had been a bit of a stretch, and he truly hadn't expected Jerewin to actually agree to it, but Ascal's venom was a potent one indeed. And once you start something, you follow through.

...and look where  _that_  got me, Ascal thought.

"I suppose I never told you that I was the one who ended your old man's life," he said, banishing his train of thought. It was becoming increasingly harder not to slip into reminiscing or musing these days. "Though I like to think you always suspected it. You were far too smart not to have. Maybe you were a little grateful, even. Hell if I know."

He'd been thinking for too long. The fire had eaten most of Jerewin by now, leaving little else but charred bones. He'd bury what remained of them later, once the fire had gone out.

"I suppose this is the point where you expect me to tell you that I won't let those responsible for this get away with it," he said, gritting his teeth. "And...well, you're not wrong. I won't. I know exactly who is responsible for this, and as soon as I am finished here I will go to them and...well, I will show them why I was  _feared_  on the battlefield, by mortals and immortals alike."

The message, smeared on the wall in Jerewin's blood, hadn't really left a lot of room for doubt to the question of whom was responsible. In truth, Ascal had expected them to come after him for some time, now. After the utter failure in Hyrule, and the destruction of the Studio, something was bound to break. It was why he'd taken Jerewin to this place, so far off the map anyone would be  _stupid_  to start looking for them here.

Well, stupidity wasn't exactly limited to the realm of mortals, it would seem.

"I wasn't careful enough," he said, mostly to himself. "I failed you, Jer. I'm sorry."

There were so many things he could say— _wanted_  to say—but beneath all the pain he felt an even stronger urge to move, to do something, to get going. The same urge that had plagued him in Hyrule, at the Studio, in Renarra...everywhere he went, it was always the same.

He glanced at the house they'd made their home in the last six months. He was going to burn that too, when he left. There'd be nothing to return to. He  _wanted_  nothing to return to. There was nothing to do but move forward from here, with a clear purpose, and no way to turn back.

"I have something I need to do right now, Jer," he said, looking at the bones of his charge. "I'll be back in a little while."

He walked away from the pyre, confident it would continue to burn at least until he returned, entering the farmhouse. He scraped the mud off his boots and hung his hat, but left his coat on. The house still stank of blood, both Jerewin's and that of Luca, the guard Ascal had foolishly hired in the belief he'd be able to protect Jerewin while he was out gathering information from the fledgling spy network he'd begun to set up (old habits die hard). Foolish, indeed, since he'd found the idiot dead on their sofa, throat cut from ear to ear with no signs of struggle whatsoever.

Ascal was bitter, so he'd buried Luca's body behind the equipment shed, but he didn't do much else than that. No rites, no final words. He had no idea in which particular religion Luca had believed (if any), and Ascal hadn't known the man well enough to say anything in his memory.

Ascal went upstairs and surveyed the room Jerewin had turned into his study, wrinkling his nose at the stench of blood and death that permeated the air. Even a mortal would have gagged at the smell. He stared long and hard at the message that had clumsily been painted onto the stone wall with the assassin's bare fingers.

_**TRAITOR** _

_**BLOOD FOR BLOOD** _

_**COME** _

Dull and unimaginative, but at least it got the point across. A challenge to the death. Very exciting.

He grimaced and went back downstairs, heading for the cellar door.

The assassin had been somewhat skilled, able to sneak inside and kill Luca and Jerewin, write the message, and exit fairly quickly. A horse had been waiting nearby, probably, and he'd ridden like hell was at his heels, aiming to leave as much distance between himself and the house as possible before going into hiding.

Foolish.

Evidently, his employers hadn't seen fit to inform their hired blade of a particular trait certain creatures of the night possessed. The man had never cleaned his blade, or washed his hands. The scent trail had almost been too easy to follow.

Lighting a lantern, Ascal descended into the root cellar, careful not to trip over that third, tricky step that he'd been meaning to fix for the past month or so. Very easy to trip and break one's neck, there. Embarrassing for a Walker to do, really.

The cellar was anything but expansive; little more than a small-ish room where the farmer could store vegetables, fruits, nuts, and other things. It had stood empty since they'd moved in, but now Ascal finally had a use for it. There was the sound of shuffling cloth at the end of the room, and metal clanking against metal.

A muffled, whimpering voice.

"Ah, you're awake," Ascal said cheerfully, marching over to the solitary chair, to which he'd chained the assassin.

After breaking his legs, of course. Couldn't have the man doing something silly like escaping.

"How's the head?" Ascal asked, placing the lantern next to the chair as he reached for the rough attempt he'd made of bandaging the man's head.

...for a given value of the word  _bandaging_ , that is.

The man jerked away from his probing fingers, causing Ascal to step back and cross his arms with a huff, studying the sorry sight in the chair.

The room stank of urine and...other biological matters. It had been a day or two since they'd returned. Just as well, Ascal supposed. It lent a certain...credibility to the affair. Things like this weren't supposed to be  _clean_ , after all. The assassin's eyes, wide but clouded with pain and the same fear Ascal could  _feel_  and  _smell_  coming off him in waves, sought his beseechingly, begging for mercy, lips forming unheard words around the cloth gag.

Rolling his eyes, Ascal stepped forward and removed the offending material, allowing the man to speak.

"Please!" he shouted immediately. "Don't kill me! I didn't do it, I swear!"

"You really need to work on your lying," Ascal said with a tut. "You know what I am, yes? I could smell their blood all over you. Do us both a favour and at least  _try_  to come up with something believable."

The man's mouth opened and closed several times, much like a fish, trying to come up with anything that could get him out of the basement alive.

Futile, of course. His fate was sealed the moment he decided to accept the job.

"I...I can tell you who they are!" he said, grinning madly. Several teeth were missing from that smile. Ascal had to admit, his first punch had probably been a bit...much. "My employers! If I tell you, you'll let me go, yeah?!"

Ascal pretended to consider the idea, hemming and hawing and generally making a show of it. Even if  _did_  feel merciful at that moment (which he didn't), he highly doubted the assassin would be able to do anything with his newfound freedom. Not with those legs of his...and surely he didn't expect  _Ascal_  to get him back to civilisation after this?

"Hm, intriguing," he said after a little while. "Or, it  _would_  be, if I didn't already know who hired you." Oh, that delicious moment where he could  _see_  the hope dying in the man's eyes...he loved it.

"But...how...I...I know other things—"

"Names, location, probable defences," Ascal rattled off. "I know all of it. There is not a single nugget of information in that cracked head of yours that I do not already know, my unfortunate friend." He leaned in close, making sure the assassin could see his fangs as they flicked into place. "You have, I'm afraid, found yourself playing the role of a pawn in a game decades in the making. Now, I'm sure they paid you generously for this, am I right?"

The man stared at his fangs, face pale.

"Am. I. Right?" he repeated slowly and dangerously.

"Y-Yes, sir," the assassin said, rattling off the number.

So much for pride in one's work.

Ascal's chuckle echoed slightly in the cellar. "Well, the price really should have tipped you off about the...shall we say, relative difficulty of your assignment. Did they not inform you of  _whom_  you would be going up against?"

"J-Just a lordling, and a protector with...gifts," the assassin said. "H-His death would serve a g-grand purpose, they said!"

"Fantastic," Ascal said drily, cradling the man's cheek in a gloved hand. "Did you at least get to enjoy any of the money, before you came here?" he asked.

"N-No, came right h-here, sir," the assassin said. "U-Urgent request..."

Ascal smiled. "Well, mister..." he paused. "What's your name?"

"Nicholas," the assassin replied.

The man had to be self-taught, Ascal guessed. No school of assassins would allow someone so easily interrogated to graduate...and if you didn't graduate from such a school, you never left it at all. Trade secrets, and all that. It was almost disappointing, that his old friends wouldn't splurge and hire an alum from one of those prestigious academies to go after him, but...well, this was really more about the message than a serious attempt on his life. They wanted that honour for themselves—and that was the correct way to go about it.

They just didn't expect the storm that would be descending upon them in the immediate future.

"Mister Nicholas," he said, still smiling. "It is to my utmost regret that I have to inform you that you have outlived your usefulness, both to me and to your employers. It is my unfortunate duty to  _also_  inform you that you will not be walking out of this cellar alive." He paused again, snorting. "Well,  _walking_  would have been difficult anyway, but you understand my meaning."

"Sir," Nicholas said, bowing his head. "Please...I have a family! Little girls—"

"Then you chose a poor career with which to support them!" Ascal interrupted, raising his voice for the first time. "And you chose  _very_  poorly when you accepted the contract on  _my_  family!" He gripped the man's throat and leaned in so close he could feel the warm puffs of Nicholas' stinking breath on his face. "No, no," he said in almost a whisper, "your fate is already sealed, Nicholas. Thank your lucky stars that I  _choose_  not to kill your family as well...and only because I do not have the  _time_  to track them down." He let go of the man and leaned back on his heels, studying him.

Middle-aged. The family story was very likely true, if the tears rolling down the man's cheeks was any indication. A century ago, it might have tugged at the tattered remains of Ascal's heart, but...no, he'd made a decision when he found Jerewin's body, and the message.

Enough was enough.

Gideon had always had an impressive ability to cut to the heart of any matter that was considered complicated and difficult. Ascal hadn't been fortunate enough to inherit that trait, but just now, for a brief moment, he saw exactly what he had to do—what his true purpose was.

He shifted his coat and pulled out his  _kukri_ , letting the light of the lantern dance across the shiny blade. It was new, nothing like Rivea's, possessing none of the craftsmanship or familiar wear-and-tear that marked the blade as  _hers_ , but it did the job, even if it felt alien in his hand. It would certainly be adequate for this.

Briefly, Ascal thought of his little Sheikah successor back in Hyrule, and hoped the little shit had appreciated the inheritance from his grandmother.

"I'd lie and say this is going to be quick," Ascal told Nicholas, testing it with the tip of his thumb. There was no need to, of course; he'd sharpened the blade earlier specifically for this occasion. "But I think we both know this won't be. You hurt me, Nick—may I call you Nick?—and now I have to hurt you back. Basic business, etiquette, and all that. With a guy like you? I think I'll have to go with the old-fashioned, traditional approach."

He crouched down and reached out for Nicholas once more. The man began struggling, but Ascal soon had his wrist in a vice-like grip, squeezing hard enough for the assassin's bones to start creaking.

"Now," he said soothingly over the man's whimpers, "hold still..."

Nicholas' screams didn't stop for quite some time.

* * *

Jhaan tried not to hum too loudly as Reyne's hands ran through her hair, subtly massaging her scalp under the guise of helping her style it the way she preferred. He'd always been better at it than her, and never truly needed an excuse to do it. The massage was a bit of a bonus, though, and one she didn't wish to turn down in the slightest, even if she didn't say any of this out loud.

Beneath her, she felt the muscles in Magnus' thighs shifting as the huge Northman made himself a little more comfortable, careful not to upset her position, leaning against his chest, too much. He was absorbed in his work, carving designs into his axe's new handle, his large hands surprisingly dextrous in this particular task.

"It's getting long," Reyne commented as he swept the longer strands of Jhaan's fringe from side to side. "Should get it cut soon."

"Not now, though," she said, reaching out and guiding Reyne's hands so they were gathering the correct bits into the right positions. "Like this," she said.

"I know, I know," the Hylian said with a chuckle, reaching into her pack and withdrawing the small jar of beeswax. It was the only thing strong enough to tame her errant locks...or at least into the way she  _wanted_  them to behave. "So...straight up, or swept to the side?"

"Side," she said. "Not going to war right now."

"Which side?"

"Left," she said after a moment of thought. " _My_  left," she appended when Reyne began to work his magic.

He chuckled, thankful for the clarification. He took a small dollop of the wax and rubbed it between his palms, warming it up before beginning to apply it to her hair, distributing it evenly before he started shaping it, sweeping the lot of it to the side, arranging it in the way he knew she liked.

He was so careful, trying not to bother the bruised side of her head, which he was currently covering up. No point in advertising to the world that she'd lost a fight miserably. The looks from the other hunters in the camp were bad enough—she didn't want to attract even more attention than she already did by virtue of her eyes or skin colour.

There was a rumble as Magnus set his axe and knife down, his hands returning to idleness by folding themselves in her lap, his arms carefully wrapping around her middle. A soft kiss was pressed to the back of her neck, which made her smile.

"Hey, big guy," she murmured. "Done with your project?"

"For now," his voice rumbled, vibrations travelling through her whole body. "Need some inspiration."

"You are  _not_  putting us on the handle," Reyne said, glancing up from his work to glare at Mag over Jhaan's head. "The runes are enough."

He'd insisted on inscribing Jhaan and Reyne's names on his weapons in the runes of his language, claiming it kept him protected. Jhaan didn't mind, but Reyne found it a bit silly. When Magnus had tried to make pictograms of them, however, he'd put his foot down. Literally. The handle had snapped.

Magnus chuckled. "How will you stop me?" he asked playfully.

"Well, I can't stop you physically," Reyne admitted, puffing his cheeks a little, "but I  _can_  stop  _doing_  physical things with you."

It wasn't an empty threat, Jhaan knew. Reyne had cut them both off before as revenge for certain slights, and the results were always miserable. Mostly because she and Mag couldn't just turn to each other—doing anything without Reyne just felt...wrong. Like something was missing.

"...fine," Magnus conceded with a grunt.

Silence fell over the tent as Reyne returned to his work, Magnus watching intently while Jhaan simply enjoyed the presence of her boys. The scrap with the Sheikah vampire could have ended badly for them all, and she thanked her lucky stars for the vamp's lack of vengefulness. There'd been definite blood thirst in those amber-studded eyes of his, but he'd fought it down, delivering a warning instead of a pair of fangs into her throat.

"This reminds of the time you slipped and fell into the lake in Lumina," Reyne said suddenly, smiling at the memory. "Had to warm you up like this, remember?"

Jhaan groaned. "I'm still trying to forget that ever happened," she said, glaring up at him. Right in front of the local workshop caretaker, too—some distant cousin she had desperately wanted to impress, for some reason or another. Probably a stupid one. "And I didn't slip; you  _tripped_  me!"

"Lies and slander," Reyne said smoothly, looking innocent as he leaned back and inspected his work. "You look so much more innocent like this," he mused. "Unlike the wet, pissed off little kitten we fished out of the lake."

"Fuck you," she hissed.

"Easy, kitten," Magnus murmured. Jhaan didn't need to see him to know he was sporting the biggest shit-eating grin of all time.

"Careful, or  _I_  might be the one to stop doing physical things with you," she threatened. "And I can go  _weeks_  without it, unlike you two."

"Evil," Reyne muttered, making one final adjustment to a stray tuft of hair on the side of her head. "There we go; all good."

"Good," she said, reaching out to grab his collar and pull him close, crashing her lips against his. "Now I'm going to make you pay for the kitten comment," she said once they separated, both slightly out of breath. "You'll be  _begging_  me for release." Then their lips collided once more, both moaning quietly as their hands began to roam each other's bodies.

Magnus remained still, apparently content watching his two partners go at it in his lap. His hands were rubbing Jhaan's hips, but otherwise did not engage, even when their actions grew a little more heated, and—

"Are you decent?"

Ina's voice brought the mood crashing down like a ton of bricks, and the three reluctantly separated from each other, assuming positions that weren't indicative of what had been about to transpire. Bad enough they still hadn't given Ina her tent back, if they weren't going to desecrate it with her standing right outside on top of it all.

"We are now," Reyne called out cheekily, deftly ducking underneath the swat Jhaan aimed at the back of his head, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Oh, good," Ina said, opening the flap and sticking her head inside the tent, giving them all a flat look. "It'd be a shame going inside  _my own_  tent and witnessing something...unfortunate."

"That's cruel, Ina," Reyne said. "I thought we were friends!"

"Doesn't mean I'm okay with seeing the three of you going at it," she said with a grimace. "I have no wish to be  _that_  close to any of you." She crawled inside and seated herself cross-legged in front of them. "Now, I have some bad news for you."

"What is it?" Magnus asked.

Ina shook her head. "It wasn't my idea, and I've tried dissuading Luta, but you all know what he's like when his mind's made up..."

Jhaan rolled her eyes. "Special job again that's specifically set up for us to fail at?" she ventured, doubting the Pathfinder was creative enough to come up with anything else. "Or is he actually going to have us do something  _useful_  for once?"

Ina hesitated for a moment. "You're being sent to Ravana," she said. "To report your failure directly to Master Terra."

It took a moment for that statement to truly sink in, and when it did the three of them reacted at the same time, albeit in different ways. Reyne leaned forward with a gasp and a devastated look on his face. Magnus crossed his arms and glared at Ina. Jhaan simply let out a long string of curses more commonly heard in taverns frequented by drunken sailors.

Ina, to her credit, endured it all with a placid face, waiting until Jhaan wound down from her tirade to hand her a sealed envelope.

"Like I said, not my idea. Apparently, my written reports aren't good enough, and Luta wants Terra to hear the whole story from  _your_  lips. Instructions and travel money are inside." Her tone, dry as usual, betrayed just how ridiculous she found the whole thing. If he weren't Pathfinder, Jhaan knew Ina would slap him silly for even  _daring_  to suggest her penmanship and paperwork wasn't bloody  _impeccable_.

"He just wants to get rid of us," Jhaan said sourly, accepting the envelope with a scowl. "He knows we'll eventually upstage him if he keeps us around for the actual hunt, so he sends us on a pointless errand as far away from the action as possible. Typical him."

"My thoughts exactly," Ina said. "I tried reminding him that, performance-wise, you three are the best team we've got up here and that your absence would affect our job negatively, but he wouldn't hear it. Claimed the news of the Sheikah vampire needed to be delivered personally by eye-witnesses."

Jhaan thought back to the letters she'd sent with Thomas, wondering if they'd reached their destinations yet. If they had, this trip would be even  _more_  useless than Luta already assumed. But orders were orders, even if they were stupid ones, and disobeying the Pathfinder would have dire consequences. So she simply nodded.

"We'll be back to ruin his day before he knows it," she said, stowing the envelope away in her pack.

"I'm counting on it," Ina said, winking conspiratorially. "And I don't plan on making his days any easier in the meantime."

" _We're_  counting on  _that_ ," Reyne said, grinning.

"Give him hell," Magnus added.

"I will," Ina said, already crawling out of the tent. "Anyway, the mission starts immediately, so I suggest you get going as soon as possible. The sooner you leave, the sooner you'll be back. I'm sure Master Terra will have some choice words for him as well, wasting resources like this. Good luck, you three."

The next hour or so of preparations passed by in a blur, and soon the trio was once more on the road, passing the threshold of the hunter camp's boundaries, at the mercy of a world that grew ever more hostile and dangerous. Not a single one of their fellow hunters had said goodbye.

"Fucking Luta!" Jhaan growled.

"Maybe we should have mentioned the letters," Reyne said, staring glumly at the road ahead of them. "Maybe that would have been enough."

"It wouldn't have been," Magnus said, sounding calm. Jhaan could hear the displeased undercurrent in his words, though. He was  _pissed_. "Would have found some other reason to send us away."

"Maybe," Reyne agreed with gritted teeth. "Goddesses...I hate Ravana."

"You and me both," Jhaan agreed.

"All three," Magnus intoned.

They fell into a miserable, but still companionable silence as they began their long trek southwards. Their task was a pointless one, that much was true, but perhaps some good could be made of it. For one thing, if Ina's instructions were to be believed, they would actually be in the presence of Master Terra, arguably the most powerful hunter on the continent...as well as the one who held Luta's leash.

Jhaan grinned a little. If Terra could be convinced that Luta was unsuitable for the role of Pathfinder, perhaps even incompetent, they could be rid of the bastard forever!

...assuming the old man didn't think of them the same way as everyone else did, that is.

Well, that was a bridge to cross (and potentially burn) once they reached it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***slinks in***
> 
> **Er...this really wasn't supposed to go so long without an update, but The Voice pretty much took over my life for a while. It still kinda has. I'm hoping to get a sort of every-other-chapter thing going with their respective updates, but I can't make any promises.**
> 
> **I can, however, unequivocally state this: Sanguine Shackles is not done, nor do I intend to put it on any sort of hiatus. With any luck, I'll be able to push out regular updates to this again soon.**
> 
> **Thank you for your patience, everyone!**


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